Crimson Rose of Texas
by Corinne Tate
Summary: Jasper had a full life before he became a vampire. He had a long and painful existence before he met Alice and the Cullen's. Follow in Major Whitlock's boot-steps as he travels a broken road to his destiny. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1 Misspent Youth

**A/N: I just want to say that I'll probably walk all over canon facts with this story, though that's not my intention. I read the four books of Twilight, but stopped there, so anything revealed in later books, interviews, and blog posts won't be represented here. Call it creative license if it bothers you. This story is of course pre-Twilight, and it's only my idea of what could have been the life of Jasper Whitlock. I hope you enjoy it, and I do appreciate any and all comments. **

Crimson Rose of Texas

Chapter 1

Misspent Youth

I wasn't born a citizen of the United States, and I didn't die one either. I was born during a drought, more than two years before Texas joined the union, and I died after that proclamation was repealed. I'm a Texan from the cradle to the stone which marks my grave.

My mother, my _shimaa,_ bore my father four sons, and I was the youngest. My oldest brother had already died in the Spanish American war before I even had a chance to meet him. In fact it was his loss which made Shimaa want one more child. Twin sisters born before me died shortly after birth. Even before I was born I owed my very existence to death.

Shimaa was a beauty in her own right. Even in her middle age, I believed her to be the most handsome woman in the territory. She wasn't a frail flower fading in the Texas heat. She was native to the harsh conditions, and she thrived like a desert cactus in the sun. Raven hair, burnished copper skin, and light brown eyes spoke of her mixed heritage. She was both Apache and Spanish, and my father was lucky to have her after his first wife died of pneumonia their first winter on the frontier.

Shimaa didn't speak much, as English was her third language. I learned to interpret her facial expressions, mannerisms, and subtle cues to know what she wanted of me. With just one look from those sparkling eyes, I could tell if I was due a whupping or a hug. She was the one who taught me to speak Spanish, as well as a smattering of Apache, both of which would prove invaluable later in my life.

My father was of English ancestry, and I inherited his blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. I looked more like him than any of my brothers. I liked to think that's why he had me ride the fences of our land with him. More likely it was to keep me from getting into some kind of mischief, as was my natural proclivity when left up to my own devices.

I was the one who was gone for three days, after I'd ridden further from our land than I should have. My horse, spooked by a rattlesnake, threw me and took off for the barn. Not only did I have to walk back home, but I had to deal with the surprised snake. Snakes are not very good eating. Shimaa was so worried, when I finally made it home I got the aforementioned hugs _and a _whupping that left me too sore to ride. Stupid horse.

I was also the one who got stuck in the well trying to rescue the dog. I still don't know what that mutt was doing in the well, but I thought I could lasso her and pull her out. Instead she pulled me in. It all but ruined a good pair of boots, and I was humiliated when Shimaa and my older brothers had to pull me out. It gave my brothers one more thing to tease me about—as if being the youngest wasn't enough.

I also had the misfortune of almost killing myself when I was round about eleven. Our barn wasn't a big beautiful structure like some I've seen. It was two stories, and made out of rough-hewn timber. It was designed to keep the horses out of the weather and protect them from predators. It also had a large loft where the hay was stored.

It was my job to muck out the stalls, mostly because my brothers didn't want to do it, and I couldn't fight them both. I'd spent one morning doing this chore, and had quite a stack of usable hay. A few more hay bundles added to the stack, and a rope over the main beam offered up more fun than I could normally have with my two brothers. I wanted to perfect my tricks before I challenged them to copy me. I swung from one ledge to the other, clinging to the rope as it swept over the wide opening in the ceiling, with the pile of hay below to catch me

For several hours I practiced swinging across and letting go to sail through the air and land neatly on the other side. The time or two I fell, the hay below cushioned my fall, and I climbed eagerly back up to try again. I just knew my brothers would be impressed with my skill. My final trick was the most daring. I would leap from one ledge to the other, clearing the wide opening without benefit of the rope, and roll to break my fall. I did this twice and was about to call my brothers to watch. It was the third try that nearly killed me.

I ran. I leaped. I missed the ledge. My momentum carried me beyond the stacked hay and I landed on the pitchfork I'd left lying on the floor—tines up.

My screams brought Shimaa running, and the look on her face scared me more than the pain. She'd already lost her oldest son, and I knew without a word being spoken that she feared she was about to lose her youngest.

It was a near thing.

The punctures through my back and side bled so freely, I feared I'd bleed to death in the barn. But Shimaa somehow carried me inside and began cleaning and stitching up my wounds. By the time my father came home, I was resting comfortably, and it seemed I'd cheated death one more time. Shimaa kept my wounds clean, and changed the dressing religiously. A week later my jaw locked up and I could barely swallow.

I learned later in my life that it wasn't the prongs of the pitchfork that nearly killed me, but something so tiny I couldn't have seen it with my eyes. We called it lockjaw, but later it would be named for this tiny bacteria called Tetanus. I suffered for weeks with fever, and painful muscle spasms I feared would break my bones. It was a slow and painful recovery, and for a long time I carried a stiffness in my joints as if I were an old man. I was one of the lucky ones who did indeed recover from the condition, but I shall never forget it.

I'd been riding as long as I'd been walking, and I loved going along with my father. He was often as quiet as Shimaa, until he was absorbed in his work, then he would tell his stories. I soaked up these long, rambling tales, like the dessert does the rain. It was the only way I knew my older brother William Junior, or learned of family we had back East. I learned I had an extensive family I'd never met, and I suspect my father was as much a rebel as his youngest son.

I rode with him from the time I was twelve, until I went off to join the cavalry at seventeen. We did more than ride the fences, of course. Life on a ranch is all about work, and riding the fences was as close to a rest as we ever took. The cattle had to be driven to grazing land every season. During calving season we kept vigil to make sure we didn't lose calves and heifers to predators, or difficulties in the births.

We were fortunate to live on lands which weren't disputed by the Apache. In fact it was Shimaa who negotiated for us to be allowed to graze the herd in Lipan Apache territory. For this privilege, each year Father presented the chief with a healthy calf, before it was branded with the bar-W of our ranch. When I'd just turned sixteen, father allowed me to travel alone into Apache territory, to present the years choice calf.

I knew enough of the language to get me into trouble, and father had insisted that I speak as little as possible. I was ushered into the camp like a visiting dignitary, while nearly naked children ran along beside my horse. Young men sat astride their mounts, casually handling guns and bows. It was a show of force as well as fearlessness to the white man in the unfamiliar saddle.

To them I was a man, even though Shimaa had treated me like a boy before I left. She'd fussed over my clothes, and tried to get my wayward curls to lie flat. Sixteen to an Apache meant a man could hunt, and go on raids. I sat straighter in the saddle as I lead my gift to the tent of the chief.

Chief Ten Wolves was about the same age as my father, but among all his braves, he looked ancient. He invited me to dismount, and join him for his meal. Father had warned me about staying, and I tried to tell him no. Later I would find out that Ten Wolves was a wily old man, who wanted a more definitive tie with my father, than just some grazing rights and a cow. He considered my father to be a rare breed—an honest white man. With the Comanche pressing from one side, and Mexicans from another, and white settlers increasing, the Lipan Apache tribes had to struggle not to be pushed out.

I didn't know how to refuse the offer of food, and especially water for me and my horse. It didn't feel right to accept, and part of me wanted to pretend I didn't understand and simply ride away. But the chief beckoned again, and I climbed down from the horse. I was invited into Ten Wolves' teepee, and fed a stew much like Shimaa would make. As we ate, children would dart in, just to touch my hair, then run out giggling. Ten Wolves explained that the children had never seen a man with yellow hair before. I almost argued that my father's was the same color, but remembered his had gone white in the five years past.

As the meal was finished, Ten Wolves filled his pipe and began to smoke. He told me the stories of the different things held within his home, from his ceremonial headdress to the bear hide on the wall. He offered me the pipe, but I knew enough not to smoke whatever he offered.

I didn't smoke, but the teepee held the smoke inside, and my head swam with the unfamiliar tobacco. I closed my eyes, just for a moment when the world twisted and rippled. I remember it as only a moment, then I felt soft and warm, and comfortable. I dreamed I was surrounded by our dog's litter of pups. They licked my face and slept against me, and I petted them as their warm bodies moved against me.

I woke with a start to the sound of a distant gunshot. It was dark, and as I became aware of my surroundings, I realized I was in trouble.

I was naked, and I wasn't alone. The light from the embers of the fire showed the dim outline of a girl, as she pushed me back into the soft bedroll. Then I realized she wasn't a girl, but a woman, as she pressed her body against mine.

I was an inexperienced sixteen year-old boy, confronted with a naked young woman who had enough experience to know how to handle me. Her exploratory kisses were a new frontier for me, and she guided my hands to her body, and held them to her curves when I tried to respect her nakedness.

I knew enough from all my exposure to animals, to know how bodies came together, but I never expected it would happen to me, especially in such a sudden way. I confess, I didn't struggle, once I realized she was eager for my touches. The way her own hands moved over my body, made me groan and pant. There was enough light to reveal how pretty she was, and she smiled when I finally gave in and went along with her seduction.

She took me, as I laid back and watched her. The way her body moved over mine, reminded me of watching a powerful horse trotting around the corral. She was grace, and fire, and woman, and I was a man in her arms, and in her body. It was the best feeling I could remember, and her sighs told me she liked it too.

It was over too fast. She rested against me, and again we kissed. I was eagerly kissing and touching and feeling her skin, naked and soft beneath my hands. Soon I was ready again, and she turned us so she was lying beneath me. She was a wonder, and her cries were louder as I drove my need into her body. The sounds of our flesh meeting, was the best thing I'd ever heard. Her face in the dim light was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Again I finished sooner than I wished, as it was more joy than I could stand. I cried out with my release. I was blessed that night, because my lover was as excited by what we were doing as I was. Two more times we came together, and by the fourth time, I was able to last much longer. In the midst of coupling with her, I whispered that I loved her. I promised I would be hers forever if we could keep making love. I felt that surely no one had ever felt such magical bliss as we created between us. I wanted nothing more in those moments, than to feel her body moving with mine for the rest of my life.

When I finished I was completely drained, and I collapsed onto my lover and slept deeply. When I woke again it was daylight, and I could hear the sounds of people moving around outside the tent. My lover slept nestled in my arms, and in the light of day she was even more lovely.

She was young, but clearly a woman. Her skin was brown, like Shimaa, and her hair was glistening black and reached to her waist. I kissed her and her brown eyes fluttered open. She smiled, and I faced the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

Once awake she came to me, clearly wanting to make love again. I was disturbed by all the noises around us, but she assured me no one would interrupt us. Half the morning escaped us as we made love. She didn't care that her cries carried outside of the tent, and she didn't share my worry, that someone could open the tent and find me with her.

Again in the afterglow of our bliss, she snuggled against me. I ran my fingers through her hair, and she seemed to enjoy petting mine as well. With my rough knowledge of her language, I asked her name. It translated to Fawn Eyes, and it fit her well, as her eyes were wide and innocent, like a baby deer. She knew my name, though she had trouble saying it. Then she used a word in place of my name, and I knew I had the translation right, as Shimma used it often for my father.

Husband.

I was stunned. Part of me wanted to leap out of the bedroll and run. But the woman snuggled against my chest, held me with her gentle embrace. If husband meant that I could hold her like this, then maybe husband wasn't such a bad thing.

It was need that took me from the soft warmth at her side. I had a need to relieve myself, a need to eat and drink, and a need to find out where my clothes and horse had been taken. Fawn Eyes helped me take care of most of those needs, and after we'd eaten, she pulled me back into the tent for more lovemaking.

It wasn't until much later that Ten Wolves came to see us. Between his English, and my Apache, the story came out that I'd married his daughter the night before. I told him I didn't remember any of it, and I tried to tell him I needed to get back home. He insisted I had a duty to my new wife, to stay and keep her happy. He told me he would let me know when enough time had passed and I could leave. As soon as he left us, Fawn Eyes pulled me back into her arms, and we made love.

I was worried about being away from home for so long. I had responsibilities on the ranch, and I reasoned I could always come back. That night I tried to escape. I easily slipped from my _wife's _arms, but making my way through a sleeping Apache camp was more difficult than sneaking past Father. There were low watch fires, and I knew to avoid the light. I underestimated the vigilance of the young braves. I ducked into the dark shadow of a tent, and found a knife at my back.

The young watchmen didn't wake the camp over my escape attempt, they only took the opportunity to tease me. I knew enough of their language to understand they were calling into question my ability as a man to satisfy my wife in bed. They also played with my hair, like the children had the day before. The name they called me was Corn-tassel Head, and they had a good laugh at the idea that they could see me in the dark.

The one who had found me escorted me back to my tent, and made a rude gesture with his hips, indicating what he clearly thought I should be doing. Fawn Eyes awoke when I rejoined her, and pretty soon we were following the sentry's advice.

It wasn't even two days later when Father came for me. His Apache was better than mine, and his anger was evident in his clenched jaw, and the way he cradled his rifle. I didn't even have my clothes, and I had to meet my father wrapped in a blanket.

The encounter between father, Ten Wolves, Fawn Eyes, and myself was terrible. Father was not a man prone to yelling, and he was true to form. However the words exchanged between the two older men were sharp and cutting. I heard the words for betrayal and responsibility from my father. Ten Wolves gestured at me several times and I picked out the words _husband _and _son._

I tried to explain to my father what had happened from my perspective, but he didn't want to hear it. He didn't say that he was disappointed I'd stayed for the meal, but the way he looked at me told the story. I'd let him down.

I sat silent and chastised as there was more discussion. There was movement beside me, and Fawn Eyes squeezed my arm before she got up and left the tent. An hour later it became clear to me what was going on.

My clothes were brought to me, as was my horse and everything I'd brought with me. I dressed gratefully, and Father didn't say a word as I climbed into the saddle. We waited in uncomfortable silence, as many in the tribe gathered around us.

There was a commotion when she came through the crowd. Fawn Eyes was dressed, and she carried a large bundle with her. Father's eyes were cold as he said the words that made everything click into place.

"Help your wife, son." I climbed down from my horse and tied her bundle to the saddle. When we left, Fawn Eyes rode behind me with her arms wrapped around my waist, and her soft cheek pressed against my back.

I expected that once the tribe was behind us, Father would speak to me, but he was silent. I tried again to explain what had happened, and he cut me off.

"Part of being a man, is taking responsibility. What's done is done, now own up to it." He looked straight ahead as we rode on, and not another word was spoken.

We didn't make it home that night, and when we stopped to set up camp, Fawn Eyes gathered the wood for the fire, and cooked the provisions Father had brought with him. I took care of the horses, making sure they had water, and Father came alongside me as I wiped the sweat from the animals.

"I understand you're not to blame for what happened. But this is a hard lesson you'll need to learn. Not everyone you meet will care about playing fair and seeing to your best interests. You had to have felt something was wrong with Ten Wolves' offer, deep in your gut. You ignored that warning." He looked over at the fire, and my eyes followed his gaze to where she sat, prodding the fire.

"She's a pretty girl. She reminds me of your mother; you could do worse." He shook his head slowly. "You're lucky this time the lesson didn't cost you your life. But this isn't going to be easy, son. You'll be lucky if your mother doesn't kill you. She might just kill both of us for this one." His crooked smile let me know that it was good between us again.

**A/N: Thank you for pointing out my spelling error JALU. I've fixed it. **


	2. Chapter 2 Married Life

Chapter 2

Married Life

I was embarrassed when Fawn Eyes joined me in my bedroll that night. I'd grown comfortable being with her while the whole tribe was around us, but my father was different. He would know exactly what we were doing, and that made me feel guilty, as if I was somehow being disrespectful to him. He gave me a wink when she took my hand. As the light disappeared to the west, I gathered up the blankets, and we walked to a place where I could barely see the glow of the fire. It was there I made love to my wife, under the emerging stars. In English, I told her I loved her, and promised to take care of her. She may not have understood the meaning of my words, but my smile delighted her. I was happy, and I was in love.

I held on to the tiny sliver of happiness until the dawn broke over us. Father didn't say anything as we joined him for breakfast. I was pretty sure he knew what we'd spent the night doing, even if my sleepy eyes didn't give me away. Within hours of packing up and riding, I recognized the markings of our property.

When we rode in to our dooryard, Shimaa and my brothers came outside. My brothers stared in curiosity, and Shimaa looked angry. Fawn Eyes hid her face against my back, and held me tight. I helped her down and she clung to me. She went with me as I lead the horses to the barn to take care of them. It was cowardly on my part, as I should have introduced my wife to my mother and my brothers. I allowed Father to break the news for me.

Even before I had the saddles off the horses, my brother Thomas came to confront me. He was twenty and often my nemesis. He stared at Fawn Eyes as she pulled the blanket from the back of the horse and put it where I pointed.

"You married an Indian squaw? His voice was insolent and disbelieving, and I felt my anger at his rudeness. "Boy are you stupid!"

"Our mother is an Indian, or did you forget?" I thought that would be enough to put him in his place.

"That's different, Mother's also Spanish, don't forget. You've got yourself a pure bred Apache bitc..." I hit him before he could finish running her down. Thomas had at least six inches and thirty pounds on me, but I took him down hard. In seconds we were scrapping in the dirt, and I landed several punches to his smug face. Father and Henry came to split us up. Father didn't even ask what we were fighting about.

Fawn Eyes rushed to me, and wiped the blood from my lip. Thomas sneered at us, even as Shimaa roughly cleaned the cuts I'd given him. I had the last laugh, when he was forced to move out of our room, so I could have a private place to be with my wife.

It was the next day that Shimaa took me aside and told me what she'd discovered from a long talk with Fawn Eyes. We'd been tricked. Fawn Eyes was not Ten Wolves' daughter, but he'd adopted her for the purpose of binding the Whitlock clan to his tribe.

Fawn Eyes was indeed a member of the tribe, but her story was a sad one. A Comanche raiding party had killed her father, and abducted her, her mother, and sister. They were taken back to enemy territory, and all were given to Comanche men as wives. She'd suffered rape at the hands of her kidnapper for four months, before a Lipan raiding party was able to steal her back. She came back without her mother and sister, and she believed she was carrying the enemies child within her.

As it turned out, we had not gone through any wedding ceremony. Chief Ten Wolves had told her if she slept with me, I would take care of her.

Shimaa was gentle as she explained that Fawn Eyes was an innocent pawn in what happened. She was afraid of what would happen to her baby if she stayed with the tribe, and she was a woman with no family to take care of her. She genuinely cared about me, and wanted to be my wife.

When Father came to talk to me, he told me I had two choices. I could send her back to the tribe, and Ten Wolves would have no choice but to accept her. Or I could marry the girl, knowing she carried someone else's child. He said it wouldn't be until next spring before we could make the trip to El Paso and have a priest marry us. I wanted her. I was naive and I thought love was enough to make it all work out.

The next day Thomas complained that we shouldn't be allowed to share a room, because we weren't married yet. Father looked him in the eyes and asked him if it made any sense to shut the barn door after the wolf had already come inside.

"Your brother's going to be the one to take care of her. He's promised to marry her, and his word is good enough for me." His support got Thomas off my back, but Father wasn't going to let me get away with shirking my duty.

"You're going to have a family, and that means you need a home of your own." I was given a rough plot of land, and that very day I set about clearing it for our own house. I soon longed for the days of riding the fences. I cut down trees, cleared underbrush, confronted snakes and hornets, and went home exhausted every night. Making love with Fawn Eyes was the only thing I looked forward to. In my heart and mind, she was my wife, even without the ceremony.

She blended into our family well enough. Shimaa had someone to help with the household chores, and no matter how much my brothers enjoyed funnin with me, they left her alone. I did my best to learn the words of her language, so we could talk.

My days were spent immersed in work, and as days and weeks ran together, the only clear measurement of time passing, was the amount of work I was getting done on our house. It grew from a cleared space, to a stone foundation. It became a two-story framework, and then the walls and roof were added.

I tried to ignore it, but time was also measured by the baby growing inside Fawn Eyes. I secretly hoped that she was wrong about being with child when she was rescued, and the baby was mine. But the speed it grew dashed those hopes.

My brother Thomas surprised me near the time the baby was due to be born. He'd made a cradle for the baby, with a cotton stuffed mattress, and a W carved into the headboard. It was his way of apologizing for what he'd said about my girl. It was a reminder that family mattered above all.

Our house was recently finished when the baby decided to be born. He came into the world in November, on one of the coldest nights of the year. Shimaa was there to help with the delivery, but I felt completely helpless as Fawn Eyes screamed with the pain. I'd seen so many calves come into the world, I thought I'd know what to expect. Cows don't scream and call your name.

I held her hand and wiped her brow for hours, as she writhed in agony with each contraction. Sometime in the early morning, the child stuck a foot out. I knew it meant it was breech. It was dangerous for cows, and the look on Shimaa's face told me it was even more so for women. She made me help pull the child from her, urging me to be gentle but firm. Fawn Eyes screamed as her son came into the world.

The cord was wrapped around his neck, and I hurried to untangle him so he could breath. Soon her screams were replaced with his, and I was grateful to see his color go from blue to pink. I'd helped bring our son into the world!

I thought of him as ours right from the start. It didn't matter that he didn't look a thing like me; he looked like _her, _and he was beautiful. I fell in love with him as quickly as I'd fallen in love with his mother.

At sixteen I was a husband and a father, and we moved into our home. I'd built it bigger than my father's house, because I imagined filling the space with lots of children.

Fawn Eyes didn't name the baby for me, but she gave him an Apache name that meant_ first foot out. _It was common for babies to be named by their mothers, and then receive their warrior names later. It disturbed me to think of my son as a warrior. I wanted better for him. I thought about sending him East so he could have an education. I thought about him becoming a rancher like his father and grandfather.

He was three months old when I took him from his exhausted mother, late one night. I held him, and rocked him, and his big brown eyes stared into mine in the dim firelight. I kissed his round cheek, and felt the solid weight of him in my arms, and I loved that little boy. I dreamed of teaching him to ride, and carrying him on my shoulders. I wanted to tell him all the stories my father had told me. I wanted to see him grow up to be a man of honor. And I wanted him to have brothers and sisters, and a big family to always take his side and love him when I wasn't there.

Two months later, I was looking forward to several things. It was spring, and we'd soon have to round up the herd and bring them in. I had my seventeenth birthday coming up in two months, and we were making plans to ride to El Paso and see me officially married to Fawn Eyes.

We'd set the date, and planned to leave that week, when she changed her mind. We could communicate well enough, but I just knew that what she was saying had to be wrong. I couldn't be hearing her right. She told me she didn't want to marry me, and that she wanted to go back to the Comanche. She wanted to return to the father of her baby, and stay with him.

I couldn't even stay and listen to her reasons. I fled the house, and ran to the barn. I took my horse and rode away, trying to deny that it could all end like that. I'd done everything right, and she was taking everything I offered, and throwing it away. I wound up on a bluff, overlooking the river, and I considered throwing myself off to end the pain. I didn't understand how I could love them so deeply, and still lose them.

Shimaa found me there. I didn't ask how she'd tracked me; in my eyes the woman could work miracles. She sat beside me, looking out over the river for an hour, before she said a word. She took my hand in hers, and the words she spoke were a mixture of English, Apache, and Spanish.

"I would spare you this pain my son. It tears at my own heart. Fawn Eyes loves you."

"No! She couldn't love me and do this!"

"Fawn Eyes loves you. But her love is not greater than her fear."

"What could she possibly be afraid of? I've taken care of her, and I've taken care of our son, and I just want to marry her and be a family!"

"She has lost her family. She is still very young. She needs her mother. She cannot see your future, and what you promise frightens her."

"What? Are you saying a future with me scares her?" I couldn't grasp her meaning.

"Fawn Eyes is Apache. First Foot is Apache and Comanche. They are both of The People. You are a white man, with a white man's future."

"I'm _your _son too."

"Yes. But you are a white man in the eyes of other white men. They will see you as their equal, and they will see Fawn Eyes and First Foot as savages. I have seen these things in my lifetime. I have been scorned, as were your brothers before you. White men trust only what they see..." She laid her weathered hand on my cheek. "... you my son, trust what you _feel._"

"I can keep them safe. I can make sure no one ever hurts them."

"No. No one in your world will see them and love them the way you do. No one in your world will _feel _them the way you do. Fawn Eyes knows this, and she fears what the future holds if she lives in your world."

_ "_What do you mean, '_my world?_' This is my world—this ranch and this land. My world is that house I built for my family. My world is cattle, and horses, and the range. It doesn't matter what color or breed someone is out here. A good horse is not known by its color, but by its heart and its strength. The same is true of a good man or woman."

"I am proud of you, my son. You see with your heart, and not your eyes. Your father learned these things, but you have always known." She again took my hand.

"Your world is changing. Your father speaks to me of these changes, and what they mean. There will be war within this country, and across this land. The People are going to be pushed aside to make room for the white settlers. In my lifetime I have seen their numbers grow. I have seen hunting lands replaced by farms and towns. Treaty after treaty is broken by the white leaders. She stared out over the river, and her eyes were a thousand miles away.

"I have seen the wagon trains and I have seen the way we are shunned when we go into their towns. It is only going to get worse. Already many tribes in the east have disappeared or been boxed in on reservations. Our ways are not their ways, and they see us as less valuable and important. Some believe we are not even human." She squeezed my hand.

"My son, this is _your _world. You will have to find your place in it. Fawn Eyes and First Foot are going a different way. Their future is not your future."

"That doesn't make any sense! Their place is with me; they're my family." My brothers had always admonished me on my tears, but Shimaa told me it took a brave man to show his heart. I cried, knowing she would understand. In the circle of her arms, I cried for the family that was being ripped away from me.

When my tears had all run out and dried, I went back home. I knew it was no use to argue with Fawn Eyes. I looked at the woman who should have been my wife, and I felt her pain. In silence I gathered her to me, and held her tight. I took her into our bed, and made love to her, and promised I would love her forever.

I would learn forever can be a very long time.

There was no way I would let them go alone. Father and I decided to ride with them to Comanche territory, and see them safely to their new home. The baby was bundled and tied to her back, and she rode behind me, the same way she'd come to me almost a year ago.

We brought along a cow, and several other gifts she would carry into her new life. It offended me, to think of paying her kidnapper to take her from me, but Shimaa did her best to change my way of thinking. We were going to keep secret, that she had been my woman, and instead we would put forth the lie that she had merely worked for us. We were going to present her as a woman who had value and deserved respect.

When we camped, we didn't share a bedroll. It was possible that we could be observed by scouts, several days before we reached what I was thinking of as enemy territory. I tried to talk her out of leaving along the way, but she was surprisingly stubborn. It was on the fourth day we were confronted with scouts. She did most of the talking, and they lead us another half day, until we met up with a larger group.

It was in this larger group that I saw my replacement. He separated from the group, and rode forward to get a better look at Fawn Eyes. Then he looked at the baby, and smiled. It took all of my resistance not to attack and kill him. Without a word to me, he helped her from the back of my horse and onto his. I imagined knocking him to the ground and slitting his throat with my hunting knife.

She kissed my cheek, behind the cover of the bundle she reached for, and our eyes met and held for just a moment. Those large brown eyes would be embedded in my memory for the rest of my life. Then she took the gifts, the baby, and my whole world, and rode away with a man who would probably ravish her as soon as the sun went down. I had no choice but to let her go.

I stared at their backs, and imagined taking Father's rifle and shooting him in the back of the head. I knew I could make the shot, but I also knew it wouldn't make her return with me. The scouts escorted us out of their territory, and three more days of hard riding brought us back home.

The days were filled with hard work, with bringing in the herd, calving, and repairing fences damaged over the winter. I kept busy, and took on any extra work.

At night, I was alone in the house I'd built for my family. I looked at the cradle for the baby, and her dresses which were right where she'd left them. I smelled her scent on the pillow beside mine. I ached for her.

I lost weight, and my clothes hung from me. Shimaa was worried, and Father did whatever he could to encourage me to eat. My birthday approached, and I dreaded the day. I couldn't think of any reason to celebrate. I'd waited for two months for her to return, and she was still gone.

I made the decision on my own, and when I told Father, he agreed to let me go. I would join the cavalry, and tell them I was turning eighteen instead of only seventeen. Shimaa wept silently when I told the rest of the family, but I could tell my brothers agreed with my choice.

And so it was just days before my seventeenth birthday, that I rode into the garrison just outside of Austin, and signed up with the regiment under Colonel Marsh. I lied about my age, and told him I was turning eighteen in three days. Captain Olander, who looked over my enlistment papers, studied me like he knew I was lying.

"Happy Birthday, Private Whitlock. Go see the quartermaster, and he'll get you what you need." Even his half smile spoke of some secret amusement. I stabled my horse and found my place in the bunkhouse. My life in the military had begun.


	3. Chapter 3 Cavalry

Chapter 3

Cavalry

The first few weeks of training took my mind off of Fawn Eyes, at least during the day. Nights in the bunk house were a whole other matter. If I was lucky, then we'd have done drills all day, and I'd be too exhausted to stay awake and think about her. But it was the days of riding that were my enemy.

I'd come with a beautiful, dark chestnut, Morgan stallion. He was a birthday gift from my father and I called him Molasses. Of course he wasn't slow but his color was just as rich, and he was the sweetest thing on four legs. He was a two year-old and had some decent training before my father bought him, but we were still learning each other. Since the garrison was so far west of regular supply lines, we were encouraged to use our own mounts if we had them. Had I joined further east, I could have been expected to use whatever horse they provided me. I was glad to have the opportunity to train with Molasses.

But days spent in the saddle were too easy, and gave me too much time for my mind to wander. Some of the boys I was training with were not as familiar with riding as I was, and everything was done slower to accommodate them. I was quick to learn the different formations, and I already knew how to cut a horse from the herd, turn in close quarters, ride both uphill and down, and how to control the horse at full gallop. I tried not to laugh at the efforts of some of the others.

"You find something funny, Private Whitlock?" Captain Olander had caught the laugh I'd tried to hide, after one young recruit fell from his saddle when his horse reared up on two legs.

"No sir." The captain had sharp gray eyes, and he always looked as if he could pull the thoughts from my head.

"Don't lie to me! What did you find so funny?" The rest of our group had stopped to watch the exchange, including Private Brandt, who had yet to climb back onto his horse.

"Sorry sir. It's a simple turn, and if you'll excuse my observation, Private Brandt asked the horse to do exactly what she did when he yanked on the reins. I knew he was going to get thrown. I wouldn't have laughed, except he was grumbling that the horse was stupid. It reminded me of a time when I had to pick myself up off the ground and walk home after my horse tossed me on my backside. I too thought the animal was stupid, but you can't change the nature of the horse. You have to learn to work _with _the horse, like it's a part of you. Private Brandt is lucky his horse didn't run for the barn like mine did." That comment made the others around me laugh.

Captain Olander didn't laugh, but stared me down. I didn't look away—as I should have done. I knew he had the power to make my life miserable, as well as those who trained with me. I just couldn't behave as if I was afraid of him when I wasn't. The others noticed, and they watched to see what would happen next.

"Since this is a simple turn, I want you to take over training Private Brandt, while the rest of us go on maneuvers. When we come back, he should be able to demonstrate the turn perfectly. Use your time wisely, _Private _Whitlock." I could tell he was amused, as he turned to give orders to the rest of the company. In minutes I was watching his straight back and blond hair disappear over the hill with the rest of the men.

Private Brandt wasn't pleased to be left behind with me, especially when he discovered I was serious about teaching him.

"You don't treat a fine horse like it's a plow mule." I'd climbed down from Molasses so I might talk to Brandt. "You'll find that the more you work with the mare, the better you'll learn the way she responds to the cues. She can feel the way you lean in the saddle, and when you let your legs flop around like a rag doll, you're not guiding her." He stared at me with an open mouth and a slack jaw. "You don't ride much, do you?" He shook his head, and I gathered the reins of his mount.

"What's her name?" He looked blank at my question. "The horse has a name, and you should know it. This is a beautiful quarter horse, and if she doesn't have a name, then you should give her one." I ran my hands up her neck, and smoothed the mane out of her eyes. "Give her a girl's name, something pretty like Mary, or something solid like Helen." I inspected the horse's mouth, checking her teeth and making sure she didn't have any sores.

"Shouldn't we be riding, Jasper? They'll be back before dinner, and I don't want to be in charge of the mess hall.

"_Robert, _riding isn't the same as climbing into a wagon and being a passenger. You have to know your horse. Take Mary here..." I smoothed the fur of her face, and she flinched when I touched her mouth. "...you've been yanking on the reins so much, her mouth is sore." I removed the bit and bridle, and handed it to him. "You'll need to give her some time to recover before you put that in again. We'll use the halter and lead rope to guide her instead."

"That's crazy! You can't ride a horse with just a halter."

"It's not crazy." I reached out and stuck my bent finger into his mouth. When I yanked his face hard to the right he stumbled, then he looked like he would take a swing at me. "That hurts, doesn't it? You've been doing the same thing to Mary all day. You rein the horse gently; it's only supposed to be a signal, not a pulley. If you tear her mouth, you won't be able to ride her—didn't anyone teach you this?" He went from looking like he would hit me, to looking embarrassed.

"I wasn't raised around animals. Papa owns an apothecary in town."

"Well, you have to learn how to treat a good horse, or you'll never be able to do the simplest things." I continued to stroke and pat the horse. "Name her after a pretty girl, and treat her like a lady..." He burst out laughing at my words. "Something wrong with that?"

"You obviously don't know women, what makes you think you know how to treat one? I bet you ain't even had yer first kiss!" For a moment, I was the one who stood there staring. I remembered her kisses, and I remembered so much more.

"Get up in that saddle!" It wasn't a request, but an order, and he had hold of the pommel of the saddle before he even thought about it. I easily mounted Molasses, and Brandt looked uneasy as he sat astride his horse.

"What am I supposed to do without reins?"

"What's her name?"

"Do we have to go through that again?" His whining was getting on my nerves, and I was beginning to think he was younger than I was. I didn't answer him, and finally he sighed, "Mary."

"You don't need the reins, Mary's well trained already. She's a real professional—like the first woman you ever bedded." I grinned, and his jaw dropped. Quite by accident I'd hit upon a truth I couldn't possibly have known. I didn't let him see my own surprise, but played it up instead. "If you treat Mary right, she'll give you a good ride too."

"Miriam." He was laughing

"What's that?"

"Her name's not Mary, it's Miriam. If this horse gives me half the ride she did, I'll be in love by dinnertime." From then on he was my willing pupil. It was a good thing I didn't have to fight with him, since he had so many bad habits I needed to break.

"I still don't see how I'm going to learn anything without reins."

"The Indians don't need reins, and they're some of the best riders you'll ever see. They don't have fancy saddles either. An Apache or Comanche can ride up on you, nock an arrow, and make you cry for your mama, faster than you'll be able to head Miriam in the other direction. I've been riding since I took my first steps, and even _I'd _be afraid to face one of their braves on horseback. Some say they're born on horseback, but I know that's not true."

"And how's that?"

"Because I wasn't born on the back of a horse, and my mother's an Apache."

"Un uh! You're just funnin with me now."

I looked him in the eye and spoke the language my mother knew best. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. What I saw on his face was almost unfamiliar to me. Respect. Maybe it was an accident of birth that gave it to me, but I longed to be worthy of it, and I held my head a little higher.

"What does it mean? What you just said, what was it?"

"I said, you're going to ride so hard your balls are going to hurt for days." It wasn't an exact translation, since when I'd heard it, it was more like, _I'm going to whip you so hard your behind is going to hurt for days._ But he didn't need to know that. He even laughed, but he soon discovered I wasn't joking.

I had to teach him how to sit in the saddle, how to use his legs to guide the horse, how to lean and use the lead rope for directions, and how to make the horse go from a walk to a canter without the slap of leather against her neck. The cavalry had a standard of training that we'd been learning since we enlisted. Miriam was trained in the cavalry ways, and I did my best to teach Brandt. I also taught him to reward her and praise her when she did well, which was often. I advised how to gently correct her when she got something wrong—which didn't happen during our lesson. I'd seen many fools whip their horses for behavior that wasn't really the horse's fault.

By the end of the day, Brandt could guide Miriam. He used his legs for more than weighing down the stirrups, and I had a switch I used as a reminder any time he forgot. He held her mane in his hands, and he knew how to lean and lightly move the lead rope to get her to turn. We repeated the drill over and over, so he could learn the gentle cues to which she would respond.

When Captain Olander returned with the rest of the company, we were ready for them. Brandt ran through the drills with no problem, even when the captain had two other riders fall in beside him. He executed the move that had gotten him thrown, and lead the horse to where the Captain was watching. I could tell he was proud of himself—then the captain noticed.

"Where the hell are your reins, Private?" He looked angry that part of the equipment was missing.

"Jas—I mean Private Whitlock took them, sir."

"Explain yourself, Private." His gray eyes narrowed at me. "I didn't leave you in charge so you could lose the equipment."

"It's not lost, sir. The mare has a sore mouth, Captain. I took off the bit and bridle so she could start healing."

"You trained this recruit with no reins?"

"Yes sir."

"How is that possible, he's as green early hay?"

"Jasper's part Apache!" Brandt's excited announcement made everyone turn to look at him—then me. I'm sure it was my blond hair that was responsible for their laughter. Captain Olander didn't look away from me, and he didn't laugh.

"Is that true?"

"My mother is part Apache and part Spanish; my father is English." Everyone listened to my simple answer.

"So, what does that make you, Private Whitlock?" His eyes never left me.

"That makes me a Texan, Sir." He stared for a second, then the corner of his mouth turned up and he grinned.

"I've heard Apache's are cunning, and mean as rattlesnakes, the Spanish are as tough as longhorn bulls, and the English...at least they're prettier than the French—I guess that _does _make you a Texan!" The rest of the men laughed along with him.

"Pick up that bit, and you two head back to the garrison. Whitlock, you show him how to take care of that horse. For the next month, I want you to use a hackamore instead of the bit and bridle on that one. I want both of you head over to the mess hall, you'll be working with the cooks tonight."

"But sir...!" Brandt obviously felt like he was being punished.

"Did I give you permission to speak, Private?

"No sir."

"Then unless you like calisthenics, don't. Take care of your horses, and eat your meals before the rest of the squad." Brandt thought we'd been assigned the punishment of doing 'women's work,' but I knew we'd been given a pat on the back instead. We got to skip out of the last hour of training, we got to eat first, and working in the mess was one of the easiest assignments. We could have been in charge of splitting wood, cleaning equipment, or even taking care of the latrines.

After a day on horseback, I was often awake hours after the bugle call to extinguish lights was played. I remembered making love to her in the dark, nestled beneath piles of hand woven blankets. I remembered our son, and wondered if he was sleeping through the night. I knew he would forget me—probably already had.

I knew she would try to forget me too. I usually hoped she was able to go on with her life and find some measure of peace. But on nights when I was awake, listening to the snores of the men, I hoped she would always remember me. She'd loved my kindness, and the gentle way I made love to her. I never thought she would have to face her Comanche captor again, and I'd tried to make up for the way he'd treated her. On nights when I couldn't sleep, I'd lie awake wondering again and again, how she could turn her back on me and go back to him. My sleepless mind delighted in tormenting me with these memories.

The day after the lesson with Brandt, we were again in the field for horseback training. I was surprised when Captain Olander split the company and put me in charge of teaching the others some finer points of riding. He took the other half of the men to show them horseback fighting techniques, while I went through the drills we'd already learned. The captain told me to see how uniform I could make them ride, and I took him seriously. After several hours I had them looking like they belonged in the same unit. Then we switched groups and I started all over again.

Captain Olander continued to have me work with half the men while he drilled with the others. Within a month we had our company looking like they'd trained together for much longer. I got my first promotion to Corporal.

It felt good to have the respect of the men. It didn't take me long before I knew them all, nearly as well as I knew my own brothers. Brandt shaped up to be a good rider, and he fought to keep Miriam when they wanted to assign him a different horse. I even caught him sneaking the horse treats—vegetables and fruits from his own meals.

Captain Olander was a patient teacher with me, and I worked hard to prove his faith wasn't misplaced. I learned he was a fair and honest man, which reminded me of my father. But he also had a sense of humor, and as the men under him progressed, we saw more and more of his light-hearted personality emerge.

Once we were trained, we were given assignments. We guarded caravans headed west, and pony express riders headed east. We were often called on to deal with Indian threats from Shoshone and unidentified raiders. My small amount of Apache didn't help, but I did know a bit more about the wandering life of the Indians, so I could better explain to the captain why there was a conflict. Overall, the experience was busy but calm.

In the first year of service, I passed up every opportunity to take leave. The thought of going home and being reminded of everything I'd been trying to forget, didn't appeal to me. I wrote letters to my family, but when I heard back of what was happening on the ranch, I felt like I was in a whole different world. My brother Thomas had met a young woman from back east, and he was talking about leaving the ranch to go and attend school in Richmond, where this girl lived. Father mentioned how he would be missed on the ranch if he left. I felt guilty that I didn't feel drawn to rush back home to help out.

When my birthday came up, Captain Olander wanted to know how it felt to be eighteen. I tried to pretend I didn't know what he meant, but he saw through the attempted deception.

"I knew the first time I laid eyes on you, that you weren't of age. You were clearly running from something, so I kept my mouth shut. You proved yourself to me, so I didn't feel the need to enlighten the Colonel."

"Are you going to tell him now?" I was worried I'd lose my rank and the respect I'd earned from the men.

"I'll keep quiet on one condition..." His lips turned up in a smile. "I want you to use up some of that time off you've been saving. Let's take our leave together and go celebrate your birthday, Sergeant Whitlock." I don't know what surprised me more, the promotion, or the captain's offer to celebrate with me. Either way, he took my stunned silence for agreement that I'd accepted his offer.

We had a week of leave, and the captain didn't tell me where we were going or what we'd be doing. Of course I knew as I packed up for the trip that it wasn't a requirement of his continued silence. He seemed to be offering me genuine friendship. I wasn't sure how to handle it, since I'd been a bit of a loner but for my family.

I thought we'd be going to Austin, but instead we headed southwest. We left early in the morning, and swung further south than the Whitlock ranch. I felt at home in the dry landscape, and I could easily have kept traveling through midday if he hadn't stopped in a stand of trees near a stream. We tied the horses where they could drink, and we took advantage of the shade provided by the Texas ash, mesquite, and scrub oaks.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going, Captain?"

"We're away from the garrison, you can stop calling me Captain." He was confused by my laughter.

"You've never mentioned your name, sir."

"Sir?" He shook his head in wonder. "Jasper, I'm only four years older than you are, and we're not in formation. I don't want to hear you call me Captain or Sir until the garrison is in sight again, do I make myself clear?"

"Sir, is that an order, Captain?" I tried to stay deadpan serious, but my smile betrayed me at his incredulous look.

"Peter! My name is Peter, and if you call me anything else this week, then it better be because you're too drunk to remember it. Damn it son, I need this break as much as you do. I don't want to be reminded of anything military for the rest of my leave, understand?"

"I understand, S—Peter." He looked as if he'd hit me if I said it. I wondered if I could take him. "I've never been drunk before... Peter."

He eyed me as he gulped from his canteen before refilling it from the stream. "It sounds like you're overdue."

"Is that where we're going? Some place to get drunk?"

"Among other things." The grin that lit his face had me worried. He didn't tell me more, and I wondered about what was in store for me. Father never drank, and we were all taught to say our prayers and read the Bible on Sunday. I knew he wouldn't approve of whatever Peter had in store for me. Still, I was eighteen and a man, and I wanted to find out what men did when no one was watching over them.

The sun was touching the horizon when we spotted the town. It didn't look like much from the hill overlooking it, but Peter seemed to think it was something special. It looked like about forty buildings and houses spread out along either side of a dirt road. I did see a large barn, so I wasn't worried about the horses.

"Casa de Las Rosas—home of roses. It's a little forgotten Spanish town, named for an elaborate rose garden behind the church. They should have named it Casa de Avena Loca—house of wild oats. Officers have been coming here on leave for years to visit Rosa's."

I wanted to ask him questions, but he lead the way down to the town, right to the biggest place along the road. I couldn't tell if it was a saloon or a hotel, but I heard music coming from inside. We took the horses to the barn, and as I started to get out the grooming kit, Peter stopped me.

"Pay the stable boy to take care of that, we've got more important things to do." I roused the boy and gave him specific instructions on how to take care of the horses. I paid him enough to make him smile, and turned to follow Peter. He'd stopped at the well, and was using his handkerchief to wipe of the dirt and sweat of the ride. I did the same, and he reached out to straighten my collar.

"They like the military men and the uniforms. Don't go in there looking like some deserter."

"Who are we meeting?" I still wasn't quite sure what I was walking into.

"Women, Jasper. Fine, young, pretty women, who will love your money, even if they don't fall in love with your face."

"Whores?" I couldn't hide the disdain in my voice. That I'd ridden all day just to pay a woman to bed me, was a big disappointment.

"Jasper Whitlock, I'm surprised at you! How could you possibly malign the lovely senorita's who work at Rosa's?" He grabbed my arm and lead me toward the door. "They're not whores... they're entertainers and serving girls, and just friendly ladies who enjoy the company here." As he opened the door my senses were overloaded.

The piano played loudly, and it was badly out of tune. The place was full of people, and all of them were noisy enough to blunt the jangling piano. A group of men played billiards at one table, and at another table six men played poker while several women watched. The place was heavy with smoke, from cigars, oil lamps and candles. I could smell food, likely coming from behind a door to our right. The food smelled good and drew me in a few steps, in spite of the accompanying odors of sweat, leather, oil smoke and flowery perfume.

"So... what do you want to do first, my man?" Peter grinned as he clapped me on the back. "Billiards? Poker?"

"How about food? It smells delicious." He looked disappointed for a moment, and gazed longingly around the room. Then he shrugged and pushed open the door to the right.

The dining room was small, and we sat at rough bench tables and ate roast beef, fresh bread, and sweet potatoes, while a girl who looked like she was about my age served us. Peter tried to get her to talk, complimenting the food before asking her name.

"Felipa." She lowered her eyes and edged around the table toward me. She refilled my water glass, and her eyes met mine. A tiny smile turned her lips.

"Felipa means lover of horses. Do you... love horses?" I remembered the Spanish my mother had taught me. I felt suddenly shy as the girl gazed at me.

"Yes. Sometimes I help my brother in the stable. I make them oatmeal with honey, and they love it!" Her English was good, but I could tell Spanish was her native language. I was going to talk to her about horses, but the way she looked at me made my mouth shut and refuse to open. Peter then asked for a bottle of wine, and she left to go and get it.

"What's wrong with you? That girl _likes _you—talk to her!" His loud whisper had me turning to make sure no one could hear him, but we were alone in the room. "She flat out ignored me, but she warmed right up to you. Play your cards right and you could be in her bed tonight." I could feel myself blushing when Felipa came back with a bottle of wine and two more glasses.

"Thanks." It was the only word I could squeeze out of my constricted throat. She smiled at me again, and turned to leave.

"Why don't you sit here and share a glass of wine with us?" Peter startled her with his invitation.

"I... I don't think..." She looked almost afraid of the offer.

"Please. It's Sergeant Jasper's birthday today. He really likes you." I kicked him under the table, but his smile didn't waver.

"I suppose I could sit for a minute or two." She sat on the bench beside me, and Peter poured us all a generous glass of wine.

He raised his glass, "To Jasper, may your birthday be joyful and the year bring you new adventures!" We all drank to the toast, not knowing how true his words would be. Felipa merely sipped her wine, Peter swallowed eagerly, and I had my first taste of the fermented stuff. To me it tasted like rotten berries, but Peter praised the flavor and refilled his glass. "Drink up, Jasper!"

Later I wouldn't know whether to give him the credit or the blame. I sipped at the wine, and slowly I was able to open up to Felipa. She got up to clear the dishes from the table, and came back with three servings of apple cobbler. She again sat beside me, as she delicately nibbled the dessert. We talked about horses, and she seemed more comfortable when I switched to Spanish. I found out it was her mother and father who owned the hotel, though they didn't run Rosa's saloon.

Peter poured me another glass of wine when mine was empty, and then he left us to our talk. He tipped his hat as he got up and went through the door to the saloon, letting in a wave of piano music. The wine was starting to grow on me, and I was surprised when I poured the last drops into my glass. Felipa slid her half full glass in front of me, and I drank that too.

For the first time in my life I was drunk—at least a little bit. My head spun when I had to go find the outhouse. When I returned, the table was again cleared, and Felipa came in from the kitchen.

"Will you be staying her tonight, Jasper?" The sound of her saying my name mesmerized me. I nodded. "I can show you to your room if you like." Again with the dumb nod. Just standing in her presence made me feel like laughing. I stared at her pretty face, thinking about kissing her.

"Follow me." She took a candle from one of the tables and lead me up a back stairway. There were about a dozen rooms off the main hallway, and I followed her quietly down the carpeted aisle. The noises coming from one room, made her hurry, but I paused to listen. A woman's cries, a man's guttural grunts, and squeaking bed springs told me what was happening behind the door.

Felipa stopped in front of a door further down and used a key to unlock it. She stepped inside and motioned for me to follow. She used the candle to light the lamp, and then added kindling to the logs in the fireplace. She was able to get the fire going, as I looked around at the small room. It was clean and utilitarian, and the bed looked soft. She set the candle down on the bedside table.

"This is one of the best rooms, since it has a fireplace. Nights here can get cold, especially this time of year." She glanced around nervously, then looked at me with wide eyes. "Is there anything else you'll need?"

"Yes." With fermented grape confidence, I moved over to her, and gazed down at her face. She was so much shorter than I was, and it made me feel powerful and protective at the same time. I reached out and put my hand on her face, cupping her soft cheek. "How about a kiss, for my birthday?"

**A/N: The planned weekly update schedule will likely be a bit longer. **

**I went a bit outside of canon with how he met Peter. I owe this change to Dan, who mentioned he hoped to read a story with Jasper and Peter without their wives, roaming around and getting into mischief. **

**Thanks also to Sibyl, who clued me in to how long it takes to fully train horses and their riders. I didn't have six years to devote to the process, but this is much better than the day I gave it originally. **


	4. Chapter 4 Jasper's Darlin'

Chapter 4

Jasper's Darlin'

Felipa stared up at me. The candlelight was reflected in her brown eyes, and I noticed the way her bottom lip trembled. I reached out and ran my fingers through her thick, long hair. For a moment, she was Fawn Eyes to me, and I longed to pull her close and never let her go. But then she smiled nervously. Her lips were thinner and one tooth was chipped. Her nose was narrower and her eyes were not set as deep. She was not my girl.

Still, she was female, and I could read the anticipation in her shallow breathing and the way her timid tongue darted out to lick her lips. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her close, then lowered my face to hers for a kiss. My other hand slid through her hair and held her head as we kissed.

She tasted sweet—like apple cobbler and wine—but better. Her hands fluttered up, as if she would push me away, then one landed on my arm, caressing me through the dark blue fabric, while her other gingerly touched my hair.

I wanted her. No matter what I felt for my would-be wife, I had a powerful lust for young Felipa. I didn't let up on kissing her, but pressed forward, forcing her back toward the door. I pushed it shut, then pressed her against the sturdy wood. Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she squealed as I plundered her moist mouth with my own. I pressed my body against hers, grinding manly hardness against the gathers of her dress.

Her fingers clutched at my hair and she whimpered when I boldly caressed her breast through the fabric. She tore her mouth free of mine with a gasp. Her Spanish words barely got through to me in my wine soaked state.

"Jasper please... I've never done this before." I kissed her again, possessing her mouth as my hands learned her soft curves. I didn't want to hear any protest. I didn't want to slow down, and I was absolutely certain I couldn't stop. I trailed kisses along her jaw, then sucked and nibbled on the tender skin of her neck.

"I want to make love with you, Felipa." I whispered the words into her ear, letting her hear the hunger in my voice. "I'll make it good for you, but I need you..._now."_ I pawed at the high collar of her dress, managing to separate two of the fastenings. I wanted to tear the thing off her to more quickly get at her naked skin.

"I... Jasper please slow down..." She pulled away from me, stepping away from the door. She made the mistake of getting closer to the bed. "I don't know how to do this... we should stop." I gazed at her lips in the flickering light. They were kissed a wonderful shade of red, and I stalked her as she backed away from me. It struck me that she was as skittish as a young filly, and unless I wanted to attack her and take her against her will, I'd have to try something different.

"Fine, let's go slow." I stopped where I was, and stared at her. She stood so close to the bed, and I imagined pouncing and pushing her down to the soft mattress. I'd been working and training for over a year, and I knew I was strong enough to overcome any fight she might give me. It would be short work to push that dress up, unfasten my pants, and make her mine. I closed my eyes tight to banish the image.

My head was still muddled with wine. I'd never thought of violating a woman before. I slowly ambled to the bed and sat down, as she sidestepped and moved away. With my head in my hands, I tried to corral my thoughts. I was still powerfully aroused, but the idea of claiming a woman who wasn't willing, made me feel terrible.

"I am sorry, Felipa." I didn't dare to look up at her. "I believe the wine has overcome my good judgment and restraint. You should leave now, I'll not bother you again." I listened for the door or her footsteps. Instead, I felt her sit down beside me.

"We can make love, Jasper... I just need you to go slow." Her hand on my thigh made me catch my breath. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore." I glimpsed the timid smile on her face. I tipped her chin up and kissed her soft lips.

Just the promise of knowing where it was leading, allowed me to slow down. I kissed her softly, until she furrowed her fingers into my hair and pulled me close for a more passionate exploration. She then pulled away and gazed at me.

"I like the way you kiss with your mouth open."

"That was an accident." I smiled at her eagerness.

"You taste good; I like your lips." She stood up and I was worried she would leave, but then she reached for the hooks of her dress. Her brown eyes never left mine, as she unfastened the hidden hooks to free her dress. With a shrug of her shoulders it fell to the floor. Her stays were tight around her and laced in the front. She glanced away briefly as she worked with the knot to free the laces. It almost seemed she was in a hurry, as she untied her petticoats, and let them pool on the floor. She freed herself from the hoop frame, like a bird set free from a cage. Then she stood there, trembling and small in her loose chemise.

I stood and went to her, taking her gently in my arms.

"I'm afraid." Her whisper was caught against my chest as I held her close. I kissed her, and she pressed against me, inflaming my need. She pulled away, blushing.

"I'll pull down the covers while you... get ready." She stepped away without looking at me, and lightly stepped around the bed. She folded down the quilt and the heavy woven blankets, exposing softly worn, white sheets.

My eyes never left her as I sat on a stool and removed my boots and socks. I stood and dropped my suspenders and took off my shirt. When I unfastened my trousers, she was motionless on the other side of the bed. My cotton drawers still covered me from my shoulders to my ankles, but they weren't enough to hide my arousal. She stared.

The bed creaked as I got in, and relaxed in the middle, still wearing my undergarment. I reached out a hand for her. She then went to turn out the lamp.

"No. Leave it on; I want to see you." Her hand shook as she paused, then she left it burning. "I'm waiting for you, Felipa." I smiled, and the corners of her mouth turned up as she tried to smile back, but she didn't quite make it. "Have you changed your mind?" The thought made me want to hold and kiss her until she gave in. She shook her head, then carefully sat on the edge of the bed.

I sat up and moved close to her. My hands on her shoulders made her flinch. I gently rubbed her shoulders through the thin cotton fabric. She was small, and even though I knew she worked hard at the Inn, to me she was delicate. The collar of her chemise was loose, and a gentle tug exposed one bare shoulder to my touch.

Her skin was soft under my hand, and I could feel her trembling. In the lantern light I could see the contrast of our skin. My hand was pale, due to the gloves we wore as part of the uniform. Felipa's skin was a lovely light brown. My fingers disappeared into the neck of her chemise, as I touched the bare skin of her back. Leaning in, I pressed my lips to her shoulder and kissed a trail that lead to her neck. A soft sigh escaped her, and she tilted her head and pulled her hair back, exposing more of her tender skin.

She tasted as good as she smelled. A lot has been lost to modern women; they bathe more, using soaps, perfumes and lotions, but there's just no improving on the warm, natural scent and taste of a woman. Felipa had a delightful bouquet that reminded me of the wine, sweet and earthy. I wanted to drink her in and become drunk on her essence. She leaned back against me as my arms pulled her closer. I turned her head to mine and claimed her lips.

Kissing her was more intoxicating than the wine. She was so soft and small against me, and I felt a sense of urgency, driving me to get closer to her. I stopped kissing her long enough to help her into the bed and ease her down against the pillow. I stretched out beside her and just gazed at her beauty. Her eyes searched my face, seeking reassurance.

"You're beautiful, Felipa." I kissed her lips. "I'm glad you're here with me." I caressed her face. "I'll be careful with you." Again I kissed her gently, and lightly touched her breast through her chemise. She moaned into my kiss, as my hand settled over the small swell. I could feel her nipple harden through the thin cotton, and I loved that she was so responsive to me.

Slow. I knew I had to go slow with her, even though I ached to possess her. I let her get used to my hand as we kissed. It was hard for me to think of anything, but the feel of that supple little mound. It fit my hand perfectly, and I rubbed the peak to make her squirm and moan.

She broke away from my kissing and took my hand away from its fascination. Then she looked me in the eyes as she untied the drawstring of her chemise. The collar opened wide, and she pulled it down to expose herself. I stared.

"Touch the other one too; I like it." I don't know what got to me more, her boldness, or the sight of her naked breasts. I touched them both, and watched her reaction. She really did like it, and her hands over mine encouraged me further.

My own underwear felt increasingly uncomfortable, as the fireplace heated the room, and Felipa heated my passions. I stopped touching and kissing her long enough to unfasten several buttons and shrug out of the top of the garment.

When she reached up and touched me, her hands were warm. Those small brown hands on my lighter skin startled me. It was rare for me to care about such things, but considering how Fawn Eyes had left me, I noted our differences. I wondered if Felipa thought we were of two different worlds, the way my would-be wife had.

"Has the wine stolen your tongue?" She smiled nervously, and I realized I'd been frozen there, thinking about another woman.

"Let's see..." I kissed her then, forgetting all about the hue of our skin or what world we belonged to. I proved my tongue wasn't missing, and went from kissing her lips to her neck. I'd moved over until I was lying partially on her, and one hand freely enjoyed her nakedness, while the other worked at freeing me from my drawers. It was being stubborn, and I had to get up to remove it.

It was her turn to stare. Her eyes were wider than any fawn, and her mouth opened with a small gasp. I looked down, thinking she was awed by my scars, but it turns out she was noting another of our differences. I returned to my spot in the bed before it could make her nervous.

Kneeling in the bed beside her, I gathered her chemise in my hands, pulling it up to her waist. She shifted so I could ease it off over her head. Her drawers were a simple covering and I could see through the thin fabric. I pulled them off of her, and she was fully exposed—we both were.

Every impulse I had to ravish her had disappeared. For sure I wanted her, but looking at her, naked and innocent in the dim light, made me feel almost reverent. She was a gift, precious and fragile, and I wanted to honor her. I stretched out beside her and kissed her lips, cradling her face in my hand.

"You're so beautiful." I was suddenly confused about what I should do next. Not that I wasn't experienced, but I was afraid of hurting her. Fawn Eyes had appreciated my gentleness, and Felipa had asked me to go slow. I knew I could take what she offered, but instead I kissed her, slow and tender, as if I had nothing else on my mind.

From her sweet mouth, I kissed along her jaw and nuzzled her neck. She put her arms around me, and I felt her hands moving over my back. I moved down her body, kissing and tasting her sweet skin. The challenge before me was to see just how long I could resist taking her. I found I had a strong measure of control when it came to carnal delights. She was thoroughly kissed, and my hands had explored every inch of her I could reach—all but her most private treasure.

I petted over the soft hair, and with a sigh she parted her legs. She was so quiet, making little more than soft sighs, breathless gasps, and moans, that I'd been fearful I was the only one aroused. When my exploring fingers found that she was more than a little receptive to me I knew it was time.

Pushing her legs further apart, I covered her body with mine, and pulled her knees up. I kissed her, as my body poked against hers, demanding satisfaction. I heard my shallow panting, and closed my mouth, also cutting off the declaration of _I love you _that was on the tip of my tongue. I loved Fawn Eyes; what I had with Felipa was lust. It was only habit that put the words in my mouth. I fondled all of her soft curves one more time, before I slid hard, needy flesh against her untried opening. Lust, that's all it is, my mind insisted.

I watched her face, as I pushed hard enough to enter her. She was so unyielding it was almost painful for me, and I saw her grit her teeth and wince. I went slow, hoping to give her time to adjust to me. The little cry of pain that escaped her made me feel an odd mixture of guilt and triumph. I _hurt _her—how dare I be so rough. I _hurt _her—I was so much a man she could scarcely contain me. It felt so good, she would have had to scream like she was dying for me to stop. I couldn't feel what was happening to her, but I knew there was tearing and there would be blood. How strange that something I found so pleasurable would cause her such pain. Fully cocooned in her, I stopped and pressed against her tight. I rested my body full-length against hers and kissed her. Two tears oozed from her eyes, and again I felt guilty. Again there was the urge to tell her I loved her, but I refused.

I moved slow, teaching her the rhythm I knew. I tried not to give in to the desire to hurry; I didn't want to cause her any more pain than necessary. I wish I could say there came a point of magical bliss for her, but that would be a lie. Still, it was good for me, and I felt my release coming on. It was then I pulled out, finishing in my hand. At the time I thought I was protecting her from pregnancy; there were few other options at the time.

I collapsed beside and partially on her, pulling her to me and nuzzling her neck. I had a feeling of conquest, like now she belonged to me—she was mine. My hands again were familiar with her, and I kissed her freely. I felt like there were no boundaries after such intimacy. The feeling was reminiscent of love, and once again I denied any such feeling.

Snuggled against her, the travel, the wine, and the lovemaking finally caught up with me, and I fell deeply asleep.

The next morning I woke up, alone.

The fire had died out, and the sun was prying at my eyelids through the gap in the curtains. I was still naked. The stain on the sheets told me I hadn't imagined the night before, but she was gone without any other trace.

The effects of the wine were past, and I didn't suffer even a little hang-over. I climbed out of bed and washed in the basin, dressed and left the room.

I followed my nose to the dining room. Felipa came in as I sat down. She was smiling, and completely put together, as if the night before had never happened. She set a plate on the table before me. Eggs, toasted bread with blackberry jam, and a thick slice of smoked ham greeted me. The hot tea she served, was sweet and flavored with sassafras.

"Sorry I had to leave you this morning; the cows needed milking, I needed to gather the eggs, and I had to start cooking." She quickly kissed me on the cheek, then glanced toward the only other customer in the room. He was hunched over his plate, single-mindedly shoveling food into his mouth. We could have made love on the table, and I doubt he would have noticed.

I was finishing up when Peter stumbled into the room. He looked like he'd spent the night in a drainage culvert. When Felipa tried to serve him breakfast, he turned a pale shade of green and waved her away. He gave me a gritty smile as he propped his head on his hand.

"Isn't this the life? I won nine dollars playing poker last night! Round about midnight they wouldn't play with me; they said I was hexing the cards." He laughed, then winced in pain. "No magic to it; I can tell when they're bluffing." He tapped the side of his head. He gave a softer chuckle, then leaned forward so only I could hear his words.

"After midnight, I had a lot more fun." He gave an exaggerated wink. "I might have to marry that girl some day." His smile told me that would never happen. "So... how did you fare with our beautiful, young hostess?" He kept his voice low, but I still feared she would hear him.

"She has more sense than your partner. Sad to say, I tried, but I spent the night alone."

"I knew it! You bedded the lass—I knew she had eyes for you!"

"_Will you keep it down!_ I said no such thing." I felt sick at the thought she would think I was telling tales on her.

"Not with your words, but you're manner is practically shouting it to the world. So was she good? Did she do anything new and interesting?" He made a gesture with both hands over his chest. "How big are her..."

"Enough!" Anger made me stand, knocking aside the bench and clenching my fists. "Don't talk about her like that!" He didn't get excited as he looked up at me with amusement.

"Well, look at that, Sergeant Jasper's in love."

"I am not! But a gentleman doesn't talk about a lady that way."

"A lady now, is she?" He smirked and crossed his arms. I wanted to hit him, even though he was my commanding officer. Instead I put one booted foot on the edge of the bench he was sitting on, and pushed. It over-balanced spilling him and his insolent grin onto the floor.

I was about to walk out, preferring the company of the horses to the tall, blond man who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Then she walked in through the side door. Felipa had her arms loaded down with firewood, and I rushed to help her.

"Let me get this; you shouldn't have to haul in the wood, not with men about." I lightened her load, since she wouldn't let it all go. "Where do you want it?"

"The fireplace, right there." She went about stacking the wood near the hearth, then she stood and brushed the bark and twigs from her apron. A smile bloomed on her face as she gazed up at me. "Thank you... Jasper." I didn't turn as I heard Peter set the bench aright.

"Do you need any more help with the wood?"

"You shouldn't be helping me, you're a guest. Papa usually takes care of the wood, but he went to Amarillo with my mother. They won't be back for another week. My brother is supposed to take care of the wood, but he's too little to use the splitter."

"You're here on your own?" I was stunned.

"Not really. The people who run the saloon are always there, and my uncle is here if I need him." She pointed to the empty table and plate of the man who'd been eating when I came in. "I can handle the work when it's slow. There's a lot more to do in the harvest season, when the farmers pass through here taking their crops to sell."

"Well, you can let me help you with the wood. I wouldn't want you to blister your pretty hands." I took them in mine, and heard Peter make an ugly snort before he went through the door into the saloon. I followed her outside and for two hours I split the wood into pieces that would burn properly, and helped her carry them in.

I was a sweaty mess when I was finished. Even still, she stepped into the circle of my arms to kiss me while we were out of sight of everyone. She tasted like the sassafras tea she served me. I'd helped her to pour it into jars, and lower it into the well to cool.

"You need a bath!" She wiped my face with a cool cloth, and squirmed away when I tried to pull her closer.

"That sounds like a great idea." I leered at her, as I imagined getting her into a tub of water, naked and wet. "What do you suggest?"

"It'll take at least an hour to heat enough water for a tub bath... or we could go wash in the creek." The image changed. It was no longer of her in a small tub, but both of us, hidden away in a creek.

"That sounds really good." I kissed her again before she left to go and get what we'd need. When I learned that the creek was a mile away, I decided we should take my horse. She had to talk fast to dissuade her little brother from going with us. He finally agreed to stay behind and keep an eye on the inn.

We didn't bother to saddle Molasses, and before we left I made her take off her hoops. She left them in one of the stalls in the barn. I pulled her up in front of me, with her legs demurely to one side. That only lasted until we were out of sight of the inn, then I insisted she ride astride, even though it showed off her ankles and part of her calf. I enjoyed the sight.

It was a short ride with the horse, and the creek was better than I hoped. I tied Molasses, and Felipa spread an old blanked under a tree. I shucked out of my clothes, and waded into the deepest part of the creek. The water was cold in March but I didn't mind, considering the heat of the day, and I washed away the dirt and sweat, dunking under to rinse my hair.

While I enjoyed the water, she washed out my discarded clothes. She scrubbed them with lye soap, then draped them over shrubs to dry in the sun.

"Come on Felipa, join me!" I was beginning to think she had only come along to do chores, as she pulled something else from the basket she'd brought along. Then she surprised me when she began to undress. I stood waist deep in the water and stared.

Even though I was familiar with her body, she looked even more lovely in the full light of day. The bold way she faced me continued to surprise me. She didn't try to hide her body, or cover herself with her hands, and as she walked toward the stream, a small smile played about her face.

The cold water affected her body in a way that got my attention, and I didn't notice what she carried in her hands. I put my arms around her, intending to seduce her while I was sober and well rested. Instead she ran a thick brush over my face. She'd brought a shaving mug, brush, and razor, and she wanted to shave the emerging beard from my face.

While she shaved me, I risked my life as my hands made themselves familiar with her body. She sliced the skin of my neck, when I slid my fingers between her legs, and she jumped. She was so concerned about the blood, but I laughed at the harmless little nick. A little blood was nothing to get excited about.

When she was finished with me I rinsed the lather, and she touched my smooth face. I pulled her close and kissed her, feeling her wet and naked in my arms. Her response to me was so different from what I expected. I felt her hands moving over me, touching me in intimate places, as if she were trying to arouse me. The cold water was working against me, and I lead her from the stream to the blanket.

We were soon warmed and drying in a patch of sunlight, but getting dressed was the last thing on my mind. There in the open, on a blanket near the stream, I made love to Felipa. In those moments, she was all mine, and I felt the first real touch of happiness since Fawn Eyes had left me.

My clothes still were not dry, and we swam and played in the stream for a while. We then made love again. Finally I had to don my damp clothes for the ride back to the inn. The whole way back, she chattered away in Spanish about her life at the inn, while I indulged my desire to touch and fondle her body. Back at the barn, I took care of Molasses, while she struggled back into her hoop frame. She left me in a hurry, eager to get started on the evening meal.

When I went to look for Peter, I found him sitting at a table playing a game of poker with three other men. The pile of coins in front of him was about twice the size of theirs.

"Jasper! Have a seat and I'll deal you in." If I'd been given the choice between playing cards, and helping Felipa with the meal, I'd gladly be out in the cook house chopping vegetables or stirring a pot. My brothers had taught me the game when it first became popular, but they cheated every chance they could, and it became another excuse for them to trounce me. But Peter seemed to need me to join in for some reason.

That reason became clear after the first two hands, as he won both, and suckered me for a bit too much of my pay. On the third hand, I did my best to bluff him, but I swear he could tell, and he again beat me. Watching me lose seemed to calm the men, and they stayed in the game longer than I thought they should have.

There was a pretty woman who seemed to work there, and she kept bringing drinks to the men. She was a beauty, and she smiled and touched the men as she walked by. She may have smiled at us, but I noticed the way she looked at my captain. He was the one she really wanted, and from some of the secretive looks he gave her, she would have him.

By the fourth hand I was getting a feel for the men at the table with us, and another joined in. The piano player came in and started to tap out a light tune in the background. For once I had a good hand, but instead of bidding higher, I watched everyone, and took note of how they played. When it came time to lay the cards on the table, I'd won, but more than that I had a grasp of how the men played.

One of the first men quit when he ran out of money, but the other played on, desperate to win some of his lost money back. Peter didn't seem to notice his desperation, but it was like I could feel it in my bones. It was in the way he clutched the cards, the way he shifted his weight in the chair, and the way he kept looking around the room, as if hoping for someone to come and rescue him. I had a pair of threes, but I stayed in. I didn't try to bluff Peter, but the other men did. He won the hand.

While Peter gloated, I watched the desperate man beside me. The chair skidded on the wood floor as he stood up, and a gun appeared in his shaking hand.

"You're not taking my money!" He had Peter in his sights, and the other men seemed content to watch the drama; the gun wasn't pointed at them—though as bad as the man shook they could easily be next. "That's all I got to save the farm—you're not taking it!"  
"Friend..." I tried to keep my voice calm, and he spared a glance for me. "...I think y'all need to put that away, and let us settle this like gentlemen." He then noticed I had my colt pointed up at his chest. I was still worried that he would try to shoot both of us "How's the little missus going to deal with the farm, when her man doesn't come home?"

I stood, slow and easy, still holding my gun on him. "You didn't come here to hurt anyone, did you? You just wanted to make a little bit more money for the bank note, am I right?" I spoke to him as if he were a frightened horse, low and soothing.

His hand trembled, and then his arm dropped. He burst into tears, collapsing into his chair as I took the gun from his limp hand. The men at the table converged on him and the story came out. He was losing his farm, and his wife and kids didn't have anything left.

Since there wasn't a lawman for miles, it was really up to me and Peter to decide what to do with the man. Peter wanted to give the man back his money and let him go. A couple of the others wanted to give him money as well, but I stopped them.

"No. You can't give him enough to save the farm, and he'll just take it to the next town over and gamble it away. The next men he pulls a gun on probably won't be so understanding." He looked at me like I'd hit him.

"What kind of cold-hearted bastard are you? The wolf is at the door... we got nothin..."

"Your problem isn't money." I snatched his hand from the table. "You don't have the hands of a farmer. You've got no scars, no callouses... your nails aren't even dirty. You probably haven't been home in months." He stared at me, like I was reading his mind.

"You need to go and talk to the bank, and ask them for a little more time..."

"They won't give me any more..."

"You need to tell them you want time to get the farm ready to sell."

"I can't do that!" He seemed almost panicked.

"It's planting season, and you're here playing cards! You're not a farmer any more than I'm a piano player." We both looked over at the man on the bench. He'd quit playing when we'd pulled our guns. "You go talk to the bank, and convince them to give you three to six months. Then you go and talk to your neighbors and anyone in the area who's kindly disposed toward you. It's planting season, and you need to ask them to give you a hand."

"You think one harvest will repay the bank? It's not enough!"

"Of course not; you've been digging this hole for quite a while, haven't you?" I leaned on the table to get face to face with him. "You go and talk to your neighbors, and ask them for help. Get that farm planted, and fix up the house. Get a few blisters and break some fingernails—work hard for the next couple months. When the crops are looking good, and the place is at its best, put it up for sale. Your neighbors—those who helped you—they'll be the ones looking to buy the place. They'll feel invested in that land, and they won't want to see those crops fail. You'll get the best price for your farm. Pay back the bank, and take what's left and move your family to a big town. Find out what you're good at, and leave farming behind—then your wife will respect you."

He stared at me like I was some kind of fortune teller. But the men around me seemed to accept what I'd said, and they nodded in agreement. One of the other men helped him to his feet and guided him out of the place.

"Looks like I owe you one." Peter clapped me on the shoulder with a smile. "You just saved my life."

"He wouldn't have..."

"Yes he would have, and you know it too. I wasn't paying attention, and he would have shot me dead if you hadn't been here. Those others would have let him do it, too."

"You don't know that. You're a captain in the army, they'd have to be crazy to think something like that wouldn't be noticed."

"That tall one wears my boot size." He grinned at me and motioned for another glass of whiskey. "They'd help him bury the bodies, and we're close enough to Mexico I doubt anyone would come to look for us." His words kept me from doing any more drinking. While we were alone, we were still soldiers, but we didn't have the backing of the army.

"Why do you trust them not to... do you in while you're drunk?"

"My girl... she'd avenge me." I followed his eyes to the woman behind the bar, the same one who had been serving us drinks. She was not only beautiful but deadly, as she cradled a shotgun in her arms. The look in her eyes told me she wouldn't hesitate to use it.

**A/N: I'm sorry for the time it's taking me to post updates lately. This is one of four stories I'm writing and posting. I also had my first really bad review on this one, and it sort of made me second guess whether I would keep going until I finish it, or stop and rewrite it. For those who continue to read, and have been kind in their reviews, I'm going to push forward. **


	5. Chapter 5 Burning Desires

Chapter 5

Burning Desires

I thought the poker game had broken up for good, but it wasn't long before the men came back in and took their seats. With one player already missing, Peter didn't want me to leave the game. As the afternoon passed, Peter and I won every penny the other men brought to play. It didn't take long to realize he wasn't playing a solo game, but he was playing as if we were a team. He had a way of chatting with each of the players, and just the way he spoke seemed to send me a message. He had an uncanny way of knowing when someone was bluffing, and in the way I read his cues, I too knew.

As the day wore on, new players came to join the game, and the others left—usually with a warning to watch out for us. I wanted to leave and go spend time with Felipa, but every time I got up, Peter seemed worried I'd leave the game. Even visits to the outhouse made him look suspicious. When I finally insisted we take a break for supper, he grudgingly agreed.

In the other room Felipa served us both, with a shy smile to me alone. I felt ashamed that she'd worked so hard making enough food for everyone at the inn, while I'd been sitting idle and playing cards. Shimaa would have had harsh words for me if I were still living at home. Once we were finished eating, I stayed with Felipa, clearing tables and washing dishes, as she served the people who came in to eat. Peter wasn't happy about the way I'd 'abandoned' him.

"I can't believe you'd let some..." I could tell he was about to call her something rude, and I fixed my eyes on his in warning. "..._girl_ come before a friend. You're letting me down, Sergeant." He gave me a sour look, and I smiled back.

"I'm just giving the other men a fighting chance to keep their money. You know, if you kill all the chickens for dinner, you won't have any eggs for breakfast."

He looked at me with such confusion, and I realized even early in the evening, he'd had too much to drink.

"What kinda farm boy logic is that? What in hell do chickens and eggs have to do with fleecing a few locals?" As soon as he realized his reference to sheep, he grinned. "Maybe you better gimme a break; it seems your horse sense is rubbing off on me. Next thing you know, I'll be playing with a dog's balls to predict the weather." We both chuckled at that image. "I don't want to be watching a squirrel gather nuts, to learn how many womanly thighs I'll get between." We laughed at his joking, but the way he glanced at Felipa made me stop laughing.

"Don't talk about her, and don't even _think _about her if you can't be respectful!" He swatted away my finger pointing at his face.

"Sergeant Whitlock's in _love_." His voice had the sing-song quality only drunks and children managed to do well.

I lowered my voice as I looked around to make sure she wasn't listening. "I am _not."_

"Could'a fooled me." He laughed and danced around the room, as if waltzing without a partner. As he passed, he made loud kissing noises at me. "I'll dance at your wedding." I fought to control my irritation as he danced himself out of the room.

I went to find Felipa, who was scrubbing pots in the cook house. I took over the task for her, but she never slowed down in her work. She had tables to wash, floors to sweep, root vegetables to clean and food that needed to be brought up from the cellar. I'd seen Shimaa work hard to keep the family fed and clothed, but Felipa was trying to keep all the guests fed and comfortable. Her brother was cleaning rooms and making beds, as well as caring for the animals in the stable. Her uncle didn't seem to be much help, though he was taking care of the financial matters with the guests.

Once the cook house was in order, I managed to steal a kiss, pulling her close and touching her in a way that made her sigh. Then I left her to a sewing project she was working on, making curtains for the windows. In the saloon, Peter was once again surrounded by men eager to lose their money to him. I watched as they finished a round, and noticed something I'd missed before.

He was a storyteller, and as he played the game he was telling them about an encounter his regiment had with some belligerent Comanche's. He'd drawn me into the story, about how he'd taken his green recruits against the seasoned warriors and managed to best them by sneaking into their camp and setting their horses free. It was then I realized his story was complete bunk. I'd had enough experience with such warriors, to know that our boys would never have been able to sneak up on veteran scouts. They'd smell our campfires and latrines on the wind even before we were within a mile of them. They'd be able to see our pale faces even in the dark, and that's if the sounds of our boots didn't give us away.

I was trying not to draw attention with my laughter, but he noticed right away, even as I hid my face.

"Would y'all care to share what's so funny, Sergeant Whitlock?" His voice snapped me to attention with its challenge.

"No sir, it's nothing important." All the men at his table turned to look my way. It was a different group than he'd played with earlier.

"I'll decide if it's important, Sergeant. Come and take a seat, right here." He pointed at a chair across from him. He was smiling, but the smile didn't touch his eyes. The men moved over so I could sit, and Peter dealt me in without asking.

"So Sergeant, I take it from your laughter that you don't believe me and my men sneaked into an Apache camp..."

"You said it was Comanche, Sir."

"I also told you not to call me Sir while we were on leave, but you seem to have forgotten that little detail."

"I've been trained well. Sir." The men around us seemed to enjoy the back and forth between us. I watched Peter, and he knew very well that they weren't paying as much attention to their cards. I started to relax a bit, thinking that I was now part of the show.

"So, you don't believe my story?" He met my eyes without a hint of a grin.

"I... I wouldn't say you were lying, Sir. Maybe if the whole Comanche camp was ill, or drunk..."

"...or maybe..." He cut in over me. "...maybe my story isn't about the Comanche at all. Maybe I'm telling a story about field training, where I had to take a bunch of green recruits against a trained squad for weekend maneuvers." He grinned at me, though I still wasn't sure if he was telling the truth, until he continued.

"Colonel March had something to prove against that fancy General from Kentucky." He was lying again. We both knew it was Colonel Marsh, and even if he were drunk he'd never make that mistake. "He came marching into our camp with his honor guard, trying to tell the colonel everything he was doing wrong. In the time he was there, he had everyone jumping through hoops, including my men. One night in the mess, words were exchanged between his men and ours."

Everyone was listening to him, and he easily won the hand, then he began to deal again. "When all the fighting was finished, we couldn't tell who belonged to which unit, who had started the fight, who had thrown the first bowl of soup, or who had come out the winner. I took charge of my men, and ordered them to clean the mess from top to bottom. The General ordered his squad to wash all the uniforms. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't." We were all hanging on his every word, but I was the only one who knew it was a complete fiction.

"It took all night to clean up the mess, and I know the other men worked just as long to wash all the uniforms. The next day, every one of our uniforms was drying on the line, cleaner than the day they'd been issued to us. It wasn't until the next day that we realized the General's men had done us dirty. Every one of my men broke out in a rash—poison ivy. As near as we could tell, they'd mixed it into the rinse water, and let the oil get on our uniforms. The worst part was it was in our skivvies, and we had rashes and blisters where the sun didn't shine." Some of the men groaned at his story, and some were laughing so hard they could barely hold their cards.

"The Colonel was madder than I'd ever seen him, and he demanded the General see to it we were issued new uniforms, since there was no way we'd be able to wear ours again. Then the General made a mistake; he denied his men had anything to do with the uniform tampering. But if we wanted to challenge them, they'd be happy to see we got the new uniforms if we won. And that's how we ended up doing drills against seasoned veterans."

I was impressed with the way he pulled his story together. He went on to tell how his unit had used cunning and tricks to make the visitors—whom they'd nicknamed Comanche's—think they were lost and unable to find the veterans. They then stole their horses in the night and made it back to camp with their mounts _and _their flag. As I laughed along with the men at the table, Peter had them ante up; he'd won another hand.

"So Jasper, I'm sure you've had a run in or two with real Indians, being a rancher and all. Why don't you tell us about it. I was too surprised to be angry, at the way he'd handed the listeners over to me. As they stared at me, Peter winked. I knew what I had to do, and I told a story I was sure topped his in ridiculous lying and unbelievable adventures.

"You bet I have, Peter..." I went on to tell a variation of my first night with Fawn Eyes. Instead of being tricked into taking her as a mate, I told of how I was kidnapped, and held for ransom. Father didn't come to collect his errant son, but instead brought a rare and sacred white buffalo to trade for his boy. We made the swap, and it was only then that they discovered the Buffalo was coated in whitewash. I told how we'd raced back home, dodging arrows and spears, until we were met by my brothers at our property line. They'd come armed with guns, and the Indians were turned back by superior firepower.

"After all that, I've still got the chief's favorite knife." I pulled my own hand-me-down Bowie knife and laid it on the table. The men all looked at it, like they expected it to do something unusual. "You can see here, he carved his initials in the hilt." I showed them the T.W. my brother Thomas had etched into the wooden handle. "That stands for Ten Wolves. Of course it used to have a leather cord wrapped around it, with some feathers and a lock of hair on it."

"Was the hair from a scalp?" One young man couldn't contain his curiosity.

"The hair was black; it probably came from his wife or a daughter." The lying was getting easier.

"Not all Indians have black hair." Peter gave me a direct look. "Sometimes, if their blood is mixed, they can even have yellow hair; isn't that right Sergeant Whitlock?"

At first I felt like he'd stepped over the line to reveal something about me that wasn't his story to tell. Then I remembered how the men had treated me differently when they learned of my shimaa, and I smiled.

"That's absolutely true, Captain Olander. One would never think that I myself was half Apache, since I look so much like my father."

"Is that true?" The same young man's eyes grew wide, and he looked at me as if he'd never seen me. I'd left out the part about my mother's mixed race, and nodded solemnly. I watched his face change then, but it wasn't a look of respect he gave me.

"Apache's killed my brother!" In a blur, he snatched my knife and leaped on me. We both hit the floor, and he tried to stick me with my own knife. He was bigger than I was, and maybe I had those Apache's to thank, that he hadn't grown up with a couple older brothers like I did. I may have been smaller, and he may have had the upper hand, but I knew every dirty trick a little brother could learn.

With my left hand, I held his knife hand, and hit him several times in the ribs with my right. A knee in the groin weakened him enough I was able to flip him off me. Still, he was powerfully enraged, and I wasn't quite up before he tackled me again. We skidded into some chairs and my head hit the floor. I twisted as the knife came down, but still felt it burn along my arm.

I took hold of his knife hand, before he could take another stab at me. I caught his thumb and yanked it back. With a yelp he released the knife, and I butted him in the nose with my head. He rewarded me with another cry of pain. A good push with my boots put me on top, and I hit him several times in the face, before I realized he wasn't fighting back.

"If I were a full Apache, you would die now. Be thankful God looks out for children and fools." I'd leaned forward to speak into his ear, and his eyes grew wide as I spoke the words in Apache. I reached out and snagged my knife, then on impulse I grabbed a handful of his hair. With my knife up by his forehead, he clearly thought I was going to scalp him. Instead I cut a lock of his hair, close to his head. When I got up, I showed my trophy to the rest of the men.

They weren't as awed as the men in my unit, but they kept a respectful distance as they helped the man up, and flanked him as they lead him from the saloon, and I sat down at the table. Peter just stared at me.

"Why didn't you help?" I remembered how I'd helped him out when he'd been attacked.

"You had it handled, and I had my gun ready the whole time. Why should I waste good ammo?" The idea that my life wasn't worth the cost of a bullet was an unbelievable insult. Then I realized he was joking. "Besides, I might get blood on the uniform." He cracked a smile at his cut down, and I had to laugh along with him.

"Yeah, and don't forget how loud it would be inside; it'd probably make your ears ring for hours." I added my own reason for why he didn't shoot the kid.

"And it would almost certainly mean the game was over." We were both laughing hard, and I was leaning on the table when he stopped laughing.

"I think we need to take a look at that." He pointed to my left arm, and it was then I realized I was bleeding quite heavily. Drops of blood lazily fell into a small puddle on the floor.

"Damn. I knew he hit me but I thought it was just a scratch." It was fascinating to watch the blood dripping. It looked like it was someone else's, since I didn't feel much pain from the cut. I was trying to roll up the sleeve, when Peter took hold of it and yanked. It split up the seem, and the tatters exposed the cut on my arm. It was a nice, deep gash, and without a word the bar maid was at my side and taking charge.

Between her and Peter, they made me lie down on the wood plank floor, though I tried to insist that I was fine. She wrapped my arm in what looked like an apron, then left me there to go for more supplies.

"You ruined my shirt." I tried to recapture the light mood we'd had, but he didn't look like he was interested in joking.

"Don't worry about the damned shirt; I brought an extra one. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"It's just a little cut; I'll be fine."

"It's not that little; you're losing a lot of blood." We both looked, and the apron was already soaked.

"Tie it around the top of my arm." I tried to show him what I was talking about, as I tugged on the apron ties. He understood, as we'd both seen the surgeon use the technique to slow bleeding before. Peter wrapped the apron around my arm and twisted it until the bleeding all but stopped.

The bar maid returned with Felipa, and she brought her sewing kit. Felipa impressed me with her cool head, as she got right to work on me. The bar maid cleaned the wound with a bottle of booze that burned like fire, while Felipa held her needle over a candle flame. She sewed up my cut with neat, careful stitches. I did my best to pretend the whole process didn't hurt, even while my teeth ached from clenching them, and I was bathed in sweat. When she was finished she wrapped it in a clean, white bandage, and I reminded Peter to untie the apron.

My fingers tingled as my blood flowed again, but the bandage stayed mostly white. Between the three of them, I was able to stand, though my head felt light and the room spun.

"Take him up and put him to bed." Peter was giving orders to Felipa, and it irritated me that he commanded her like she was his subordinate. She didn't say a word, but put her arm around me to guide me from the room.

"What, no more poker?" My grin didn't seem to lighten his mood any.

"Go to bed Sergeant. I think I can handle lightening my fellow player's loads without you." His smile told me he wasn't so worried I was going to die on him. I was surprised how much I needed to see that.

She may have been small, but Felipa was strong enough to help me from the room and up the steps. I didn't feel like I had to be brave once I was through the doors. My arm hurt like crazy, and as we made the top of the stairs, I felt like I could easily tumble back down. She pulled me along, and I leaned heavily on her for support. I don't recall much beyond her guiding me to the bed. I watched her take off my boots, and even though it reminded me of the night before, I couldn't hold my eyes open.

Hot. I was hot and sweating, and the dark closed in around me. I fought to be free from whatever it was that confined me. I kicked and struggled, and felt pain when I lashed out at invisible restraints.

"Hold still, Jasper." Her words were soft, as I focused on a shadowy form in the dim glow of the firelight. "Drink this." She held a cup to my lips and icy relief spilled down my throat and chin. She held me in the bend of her arm like a baby, and I gazed up at her. My love.

"Fawn Eyes." My whisper made her smile. "I missed you... I love you so much."

"I'm here. I'll take care of you." She held a cold, wet cloth to my head and wiped the sweat from my face. I felt like I was exposed in the desert sun, and she was a cold spring. She gave me water, and I clutched at her until she kissed me. I knew I would never let her go again. I closed my eyes and fell into delirium.

Rattlesnake poison coursed through my veins from the fiery bite on my arm. I knew I was dying. Even my eyes felt like they were melting as I watched Fawn Eyes change the bandage on my arm. Swollen and red, the snakebite put a worried frown on her face. I screamed as she doused it in something that burned. She slathered it with some Apache concoction, made from cactus needles, scorpion venom, and lamp oil. The arm would have to come of, I was certain.

With the bite covered, she worked at undressing me. I was only wearing my undergarment, and she had a tough time getting me out of it—even though I tried to help her. My body glistened with sweat in the firelight. I was dismayed that I couldn't become aroused, even though I desperately wanted to make love to my wife just one more time before I died. She tirelessly bathed me with a soft wet cloth, whispered comforting words, and placed gentle kisses in the path of her cooling touch.

I knew it was morning when the sun peeked around the edges of the curtain. I was alone in an unfamiliar place. The fireplace reminded me of home, but it wasn't home. I was thirsty, but I was too weak to even reach for the pitcher on the table beside me. I heard noise in the hallway outside the door. I vaguely remembered I was in some kind of hotel, but I didn't know why. I wondered who had stolen my clothes.

The door opened and she floated into the room. Beauty. Grace. Love. "I'm going to cover up up, Jasper. Your commander wants to see how you're doing." I watched her as she pulled a sheet over me, and a thin, woven blanket. I tried to tell her how much I loved her, but my voice came out as a dry rasp. She poured me a glass of water, and held my head, helping me drink. She smoothed the wet hair from my face, then kissed my forehead. I wrapped my arms around her and held her as tight as I could—which wasn't tight at all.

She pulled away as the door opened. A tall blond man in a uniform swaggered into the room and grinned down at me.

"I might have known I'd find you lollygagging in your bed with a pretty girl. This better not be an attempt to delay our return to the fort, Sergeant Whitlock. We only have a four day pass, and I for one don't want to be flogged for desertion because you can't be parted from this pretty lass." He laughed, but I could tell he wasn't really amused.

I felt like I should know him, but I couldn't come up with a name. He walked around the bed, and took hold of my arm. He moved the bandages, and had a long look at my snake bite.

"It looks like it's festering pretty bad." He was talking to Fawn Eyes, like I wasn't even in the room. "I've seen some like this go bad, and no matter how hard we try, we lose them. The Sergeant here is a fighter, and I know you're taking good care of him. Let me know if he gets any worse, or if his fever breaks. Don't worry about the other guests. I'll make sure they're taken care of, and you make sure Jasper gets everything he needs."

He left us, and I caught her hand before she moved away from me. "Don't go." It was all I could say, and I was too weak to even hold on to her. She went to the door and closed it tight, then came back to me. I watched in awe as she undressed down to her chemise, then she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed beside me.

She was cool, soft comfort snuggled against me. She arranged my arm around her and rested her head on my shoulder. I fought a losing battle to stay with her, and darkness claimed me again.

It was dark when I awoke. As soon as I struggled to get out of bed, she awoke. Felipa had been sleeping by my side, but I didn't recall how that came to be. She pushed me back down in bed, then hurried to get me water. She wanted to hold it for me, but I took it from her and drank my fill. She sat on the edge of the bed, rested her hand against my forehead and smiled.

"Your fever's broken."

"How long have I been in bed?"

"It's been two days. I thought... I thought you were going to die." Her lip trembled and she blinked a tear from her eye. "I've been so worried about you..."

"Hush. I'm okay; it'll take more than a little cut and a fever to put an end to all my mischief." I grinned as I wiped the tear from her cheek. "You took care of me all this time, didn't you?"

"I... your commander took care of the guests for me. He found someone to do the cooking and everything. He wanted to make sure I could nurse you back to health."

"Is that what _you _wanted?" She blushed, and looked away.

"Of course I wanted you to get better..."

"...and I owe you a debt of gratitude." I reached out and fingered her thin chemise. "Would you give all the guests such personal attention if they were ill?"

"No!" She looked as if I'd slapped her. "I would never... not with anyone else. You... you're special."

It was all the encouragement I needed. I reached out and pulled her down to me. I kissed her lips, even as she tried to pull away from me.

"You're too weak, Jasper. I need to tell your commander your fever's broken..." I kissed her again over her protests. My left arm ached, and I felt like I'd been drained. I could feel the dried sweat on my skin, and my beard was just past the itchy new growth. But I wanted her, and lust is a powerful healer.

In moments, she quit struggling, and I pulled her beneath me. All she wore was the chemise, and as we kissed, I worked at pulling it up. My stomach growled, but I was hungry for something much better than food. My hands fondled the curves I had learned before, and I pressed my naked arousal against her.

Her soft sighs, and the way she moved with me let me know she wanted me as much as I wanted her. With the fabric finally pushed up past her waist, I made her mine. Even the blissful in and out of making love took a lot from me. I went slow, and rested against her as I kissed her neck, and gloried in the way we fit together.

It was taking a lot more out of me than I expected, and she seemed to understand. She broke our connection and wiggled away. Before I could question her in my disappointment, she had me roll onto my back. In one smooth move she pulled the chemise over her head, then straddled me. It took a couple tries, but then she guided me into her.

I never knew a woman could move like that. She must have been a fine horsewoman. As the thought crossed my mind, I smiled and surged up against her. I was her stallion, and I wrapped my hands around her waist and made sure she didn't lose her seat. Each time she came down against me, the impact made her body move in a way that inflamed me. She leaned forward, pressing her body against mine, while still managing to move in a way that made me glad I was a man.

As much as I wanted it to go on forever, we reached a point of overwhelming bliss. I was surprised to see she was as carried away as I was, and her soft cries blended with my moans and the squeak of the bed. She collapsed onto me with a sigh, and as her breathing slowed, she whispered in my ear.

"I love you, Jasper." I kissed her then, hoping to keep her from saying anything more. I certainly didn't want to answer back. How could she love me? I hadn't done a single thing to encourage her in such a way. What could she possibly expect from me—I was a soldier. I had no intention of falling in love with her. Love meant commitment and trust, and changing my whole life for her. No! I still loved my wife. I knew she was probably lost to me forever, but I wasn't ready to go down that road again.

Felipa pulled away from my energetic kissing, with a smile. She broke our intimate connection and snuggled against my side. I thought for sure she would expect some kind of declaration from me, but instead she tucked my arm around her and closed her eyes. I reached down and pulled a quilt over us, and in minutes we were both asleep.

Morning came with bright sun in my eyes, a warm girl in my arms, and pounding on my door. I only wanted one of those, but I had no choice but to answer the most demanding. Felipa hid all but her eyes beneath the blanket, as Peter barged through the unlocked door.

"So, you're not dead! I can tell the undertaker to quit building your coffin." He circled the bed to look at me, ignoring Felipa. "Were you planning to let me know, or did you just expect me to keep thinking I was going to have to train another Sergeant to take your place?" At the time I didn't realize his anger was born of worry. I thought he was truly upset that I'd messed up and extended our leave.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I was going to tell you in the morning..."

"The sun has been up for two hours! I thought the lass was just too afraid to tell me you'd breathed your last. What are you doing still in bed if your fever's broken?"

"Jasper still has to heal!" Felipa poked her head out to confront him. "He's too weak to be out of bed."

"But he's obviously not too weak to... never mind." He looked momentarily embarrassed, then spoke directly to me. "I expect to see you up and dressed before noon, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir."

"And stop calling me sir!" He stalked out before I could point out that he was the one giving the orders like a commanding officer.

It was the perfect excuse I needed to get out of bed and avoid confronting Felipa on her feelings. Maybe if I ignored it, the 'I love you' would just go away. By the time I'd struggled into my clothes, I was feeling good enough to shake off her help. Going down the stairs I needed to use the railing, as she hovered like a mother hen. I drew the line at allowing her to accompany me to the outhouse.

Back inside there was food, and lots of cold tea to quench my thirst. Peter joined me, which sent Felipa ducking out the door.

"She seems to be a bit stuck on you." His words made me lose what little appetite I had.

"She says she's in love with me." I lowered my voice, fearing she would hear.

He laughed. "That's not such a bad thing, is it? It might be nice to have a pretty, young girl to keep you warm whenever you're away from the fort. It's a good thing you're already carrying a torch for her. Maybe some day after you're discharged, you can marry her and have a bunch of young'en's"

"No! That's not going to happen. I don't love her, and I'm definitely not going to marry the girl! She's not the kind of girl to chase after the army and wait for me to have time to bed her, and... I don't have anything else to offer her."

"Well then it looks like you are in a bit of a mess then. She's clearly smitten with you. She took care of you the whole time you were down. You're lucky her daddy isn't around to force the issue. I don't think even I could save you from an angry papa.

With my face in my hands I groaned. I promised myself I wouldn't let Peter lead me astray again. But I still had to get myself out of the situation with Felipa.

After I'd eaten, I encouraged her to show me the rose garden the place was named for. There were no roses yet, only early blossoms on the fruit trees. She seemed happy to be alone with me, and she held my arm as we walked. When we were behind a large shrub, she pulled me to her for a kiss. I struggled away from her and held her arms. As she met my eyes, the smile on her face withered.

"Felipa, I..." I didn't know what to say to her.

"You're leaving." I could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I was afraid that as soon as you were better, you'd have to go." Her smile returned. "I'll wait for you. Many army men come here, it can't be that long, right?"

"No." I was quiet a while. "Felipa, we can't... we can't be together. We can't pretend I'm free to marry you some day. That's never going to happen. It was really nice to be with you these past few days, but it's over now..."

"But you love me; you said so just yesterday! If I love you, and you love me, then... I'll wait for you."

"I don't know what you think you heard, but I didn't say that. I... I'm sorry, Felipa, but I don't love you. I'm never going to marry you..."

"You said it! You looked right at me and begged me never to leave you!" She'd started crying, and I felt about as low as I could get. "You even called me the most beautiful name. Fawn Eyes. I love you, Jasper, how can you do this to me?" It all clicked into place. I barely remembered my delirious rambling, but what she said reminded me of what I'd thought was a dream.

"You're not Fawn Eyes, she's my wife." Her slap almost knocked me down in my weakness. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean for you to get hurt..."

"I was a _virgin! _At first I thought it would just be good to find a handsome young man and get it over with. But you treated me better than any man ever did... and I thought you might fall for me. I can't believe I was such a fool! You never said you were married—you've made me an adulteress!" Her anger was at least taking the place of her tears, and I didn't tell her I wasn't married. "Just leave me alone, Jasper Whitlock; I don't want to be around you! I wish I'd never bedded you—I wish I'd never laid eyes on you!"

She left me standing there as she stormed back to the inn. My cheek stung. I should have felt relieved to have it behind me, but I felt strangely depressed and melancholy. I found a bench in the garden and sat there pondering the girl. She was a good woman, with strong character, responsibility, and a gentle spirit where it mattered. But I couldn't love her. She deserved to have a man who would treat her like a lady. She deserved someone who would marry her and settle down to raise a family with her. I wasn't that man.

I took Molasses and rode to the stream for a bath in the noonday sun. Under the bandage, I found my wound was beginning to heal, and I felt better after I'd washed and shaved. I spent time with Peter in the saloon, and did my utmost to pretend Felipa didn't matter.

The evening meal was served by her brother, who brought us stew and bread. He shot evil looks at me, while I tried to be pleasant. Peter tried to cheer me up, and even gave me his extra shirt. I laughed, because he'd sewn his rank on the shirt, and I could be disciplined for impersonating an officer.

"I guess you'll have to decide what's more worrisome, being out of uniform, or being in the wrong uniform—sir." He laughed at his joke. "You could ask that little gal to sew up your other shirt, but I think she'd be more likely to stick you full of pins after this morning."

We made plans to leave in the morning, and we'd only be a day late returning to the fort. Peter had plans for us to be up most of the night playing poker, and I had no reason to go against his wishes. We were seated at our usual table, and I had my back to the door. The piano player was just getting warmed up, when everyone stopped talking and turned toward the door.

I barely recognized the woman who stood in the doorway. Felipa wore a yellow satin dress cut low on her chest, and her hair was caught up in a mass of curls on her head. Her lips were painted red, and her eyes were outlined in black. The blush staining her cheeks wasn't entirely natural. The barmaid Peter liked beckoned to her, and she sashayed to the bar. The two woman chatted and giggled, as every man in the place watched, myself included. She never so much as looked my way.

Peter got my attention and pointed toward the door. The man standing there was one of those we'd played against, and our eyes met. His hair looked ridiculous, with a big chunk missing from the front. He was the man who'd tried to kill me. His insolent grin had me pushing my chair back, but Felipa made me stop.

I watched as her smile made him turn away from me. She came around the bar, and rushed into his arms. He held her tight, and kissed her there in front of everyone. Then he glanced my way to make sure I hadn't missed the show. I stood, and Peter grabbed my arm.

"Careful now, Son, you're about to make a very bad mistake." He stood and pulled me out the back door. He lead me into the cold night, and it wasn't enough to cool the anger I felt.

"Do you love the girl?" His question caught me off guard.

"That's not what this is about! He tried to kill me, I'm not going to let him..."

"It's not about him, and you damn well know it! Do you love that girl, Sergeant Whitlock? Do you want her? I can tell you one thing for sure, women don't wait on men—not for long anyway. If you want her, I'll go back in there and help you fight for her. But if you don't want her, you've got no right interfering with her plans."

"What _plans?_ Is it her plan to humiliate me?"

"It's not about you. She's doing what she has to do to keep the wolf from the door. A girl like that doesn't have very many options. She could hope to find a husband to take care of her, or maybe work with her parents to take care of the inn. But this place isn't stable, and she's known all along that her future was probably in the saloon. She decided this afternoon, that if she didn't have a hope of getting married, she would take her only other real option."

"She's going to work in the saloon instead of the inn? How will that change anything?"

"Open your eyes! She's not a bar maid, that's just a small part of it. She's working the saloon to entertain the men." His words stunned me as they worked their way into my head. I hadn't let her go to find a better man who would make her a decent husband. I'd turned her away and she was going to become a whore!

I said some words that would have earned me a whupping back home. "Why is she doing this now? She's too young for this, Peter."

"The young ones make more money. Part of the reason her parents left her here was so she could make the transition and they wouldn't have to watch. Don't look at me like that, I hear things." He'd let go of me, and I was too overwhelmed to even be angry.

"I meant what I said; if you want her we'll go back in and take that man apart. But if you don't want to make an honest woman of her, then you need to let her choose her own way.

It was harder than I imagined walking back inside, knowing I wasn't going to fight for her. I took my seat at the table, and did my best not to look at the woman who'd nursed me back to health, and declared her love for me—the woman who was sitting on the lap of a man who had tried to kill me.

He wasn't prepared to leave me alone, and he moved to another table where I had a clear view of them. As I lost one hand of poker after another, he kissed Felipa's neck, held her on his lap, sent her to wait on him and pour him drinks, and he even fondled her breasts while I watched. He shot me a challenging look when he took her by the hand and lead her from the room. His arm wrapped possessively around her waist as they went into the inn.

Peter tried to distract me, but it wasn't working. Part of me wanted to fight for her, but part of me just wanted to saddle up Molasses and ride back to the fort. Every time I could remember feeling like that, there was a woman involved. I wanted to be done with them!

I made excuses to leave the table; I really was exhausted after my fever. Peter shot me a warning look as I headed for my room.

"Trust me, I'm not going to start something; I'm just going to get some sleep. I want to be gone first thing in the morning." They were brave words. I climbed the stairs, and I was halfway down the hall when I was forced to regret my decision.

They were loud. The bed springs made a terrible racket, but it wasn't enough to cover up his grunts and moans. It wasn't enough to keep me from hearing her sharp cries coming from his room. I stood there, listening to the rhythm of their coupling. I heard him compliment her on her breasts and every other female attribute. I heard him giving her orders on what he liked and what he wanted her to do. I heard enough to know she did everything she was asked. It was only after his loud finish that I found the strength to silently move past the door.

I was awake long after I'd snuffed the lamp and climbed into bed. I couldn't believe I'd turned my back on her, and she'd turned to having sex for money. Too late I felt that maybe, just maybe I had some feelings for the girl. Too late I realized I was partially responsible for her being in his room, and in his bed, lying under him as he paid for the right to use her body. I'd left her to the wolves.

The next morning I was up at dawn, and I had Molasses saddled and all my things packed up before Peter was even out of bed. He brought me ham and a biscuit, and we filled all our canteens from the well before we left. Las Rosas was long behind us, and still we rode in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter tried again to get me to open up.

"No."

**A/N: I know it seems like forever since I've updated. This is a long chapter, but it's because I tried to find a good place to stop. I've currently got five stories on my task bar, and I'm having to put two on temporary hiatus. This is one I'm setting aside, until I finish one of the others. This should help me with my update schedule, but unfortunately it means I won't be writing on this one for a while. I hate to do this, as it's my goal to always finish what I start. **

**I'm asking that you put this on alert if you'd like to finish reading it when it gets going again. I have the plot outlined, and I intend to finish it. I won't start any new stories until I can mark this one complete. I'm sorry to do this to my faithful readers, but I need to be able to manage my time better. Thanks for reading this far. **


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